


Elliott Oneshots (Friends to Lovers)

by EssentiallyEccentric



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26048041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssentiallyEccentric/pseuds/EssentiallyEccentric
Summary: This is a collection of short stories based around Elliott's favorite items in game (duck feather, pomegranate, crab cakes, lobster, tom kha soup). You don't have to read them in any particular order, but it will connect to form a larger friends to lovers story if you choose to. I'll be including some extra chapters based around heart events, festivals, bouquet giving, engagement, and a few of my own original scenarios.No set update schedule for the foreseeable future. Suffice it to say that life gets busy sometimes.  While I might have some gaps between chapters, please just know that I don't plan on abandoning my projects and I'll get back to them when I have the time and creative energy.
Relationships: Elliott/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Elliott/Male Player (Stardew Valley), Elliott/Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 191





	1. Duck Feather

**Author's Note:**

> While I'm trying to keep things gender neutral in order to be as inclusive as possible, I write these stories for myself first. As such, there may be a few places where I forget to use a neutral pronoun. Obviously, I'm going to try my best to prevent this from happening before it's published, but if this occurs, please let me know so I can edit it.

Getting through my first week on the farm had been rough. I was tired, sore, and a little disheartened by my lack of progress. Of course, I probably should have anticipated that there would be an adjustment period. I had gone from a mind-numbingly mundane office job in the city, to suddenly trying to restore my grandfather's old farmhouse, after all. I was so unmotivated to go on shuffling through my daily chores, it was almost a relief when I checked the mail and found a letter from Willy, the owner of the local bait and tackle shop along the beach -- almost. Since my relocating to Pelican Town, I had been overwhelmed not only by the amount of work I hadn't quite realized I'd be signing up for, but also by having to make introductions with the small flock of townspeople. Don't get me wrong, they were nice enough, and many of them had only the most lovely and respectful things to say about my dear grandfather. But I had never been the most social person, and now I had the added bonus of forcing myself to make polite conversation when all I really wanted to do was buy my tools and seeds and trudge home for a cup of tea and a nap. 

But as I turned the letter over in my hands, I found myself caught between two equally uninteresting choices; I could stay home and use my quest to reclaim my severely overgrown land as an excuse to avoid meeting another new person, or I could stop in for a brief visit and put off doing my daily chores for just a little longer. Of course I had become, to my dismay, quite a popular attraction to the other townspeople. And since Pelican Town had such a slight population, I knew it was probably in my best interest to make a good first impression as often as I could. Sighing, I lifted my coffee mug and drank the remaining contents in one long sip. I had made my decision. 

As I closed the front door behind me, I noticed the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, threatening to spill over. Maybe Pelican Town would be graced by the presence of a summer storm, and I wouldn't have to work on the farm today after all. Stepping off my front porch and heading for the western gate, I began my walk down to the beach. On my way, I couldn't stop thinking about how foolish I had been. I was so tired of the repetition in my life that I had all but abandoned everything I knew in favor of living a 'simpler life' on the farm. Sure, I had considered that it might be challenging, -- especially since I knew next to nothing about how to run a farm -- and I even accounted for some overgrowth, given the fact that Grandpa hadn't been strong enough to tend the land by himself for the last 7 years of his life. But I had no idea just how much work I'd have to do in order to restore it to its former glory. I was in way over my head.

As I made my way into the town square, I passed a few of the locals I recognized. Harvey, the only doctor in town, was out on his afternoon walk. We exchanged waves as we walked by. I also ran into Mayor Lewis, who briefly asked about my progress. I forced a sheepish smile as I told him I was taking a break for the day. "Well, that's understandable," he tried to assure me. "I always said your grandfather worked too hard. You take care of yourself, now." 

I continued on through the neighborhood, and eventually reached the entrance to the beach. It was a little smaller than I had imagined, but still lovely, even on such a dismal day. I silently promised myself to come back sometime, when the sun wasn't in hiding. As I scanned the horizon, I noticed a small cabin by the shore, and a pier to my right, upon which sat a small shack. Willy's shop. I made my way across the sand. The wooden planks of the pier gave a small creak as I stepped over them. I rounded the corner, heading for the shop's entrance, when I noticed a man standing by the edge of the dock, about 10 feet away. He was tall and slightly muscular, and his hair was long and red. 

I tried to avoid eye contact as I reached for the doorknob, but to my disappointment, it was locked. 

"He's not open for another 15 minutes or so," the man called to me. Not wanting to be rude, I closed the gap between us. "Aren't you the one who just moved into the old farm?"

"Yeah, my grandfather left it to me when he passed away," I answered. "My name is ____, it's nice to meet you."

"Elliott," he replied. "Likewise." 

We stood there in silence for a moment, and while I was racking my brain in search of something else to say, a part of me was also relieved at the chance that our conversation would simply end there. 

"I'm sure you must be bored of talking about it, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about how things are coming along over there," he admitted. 

"It's no problem, I'm used to it by now," I returned. "I guess it's going well. About as well as it could go, that is." 

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. 

"It's just I'm not exactly experienced with any of this. There's a real learning curve to it. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into, but honestly, I had no idea. And then there's the introductions -- no offence, of course." 

"None taken," he chuckled.

"It's just all getting a little overwhelming," I sighed. Another moment of silence passed, and I was almost immediately embarrassed. There I was, minutes into meeting this man, and I was already dumping my problems onto him. So much for first impressions.

"I understand how you feel," he said. "I moved here just last year. Of course, didn't have to hack my way through the overgrowth to get to my front door." I blushed. 

"You get used to it, though. And after a while, the excitement will die down some," he assured me. 

"At this rate, I'm not sure if I'll make it that long. I love the farm, and I wish I could do it justice, but I don't know what I was thinking," I sighed. 

"I'm sure it's not _that_ bad," he said. "A little run down, sure." 

"If you saw it for yourself, you'd probably change your mind," I chuckled.

"Well, I have always been curious about that old farmhouse," he mused.

"In that case, you could stop by sometime," I offered. "If you'd like." Before he could answer, the shop door swung open with a loud creak and Willy emerged. 

~~~

The next morning, I rolled out of bed once more and began my daily routine. After watering the small patch of space I had cleared for my vegetable garden, I groggily headed for the old, dilapidated coop near the back of the farmhouse. I then noticed a figure approaching up the path. It took a minute for my sleep-worn eyes to make out who it was. Elliott. I had almost forgotten my invitation to him. 

"Good morning, ____" he greeted me cheerfully. "I hope I'm not intruding, we never did get the chance to decide on a time." 

"It's no problem at all," I shook my head. "I was just about to feed my animals, though. Would you like to join me?" 

"Absolutely." 

I gestured for him to follow me, and I lead him inside. It was a little crowded, but he didn't seem to mind. I went about my routine, taking the time to pet each of my animals as I went. Elliott seemed particularly amused by the ducks.

"Would you like to try feeding one?" I offered.

"Sure, if that's alright." I poured the feed mixture into his open hand and he knelt down, holding it out to one of the ducks. Elliott's face lit up as it waddled up to him and took a few bites. I couldn't help but smile too. When we were done with the chickens, I gave him a brief tour of the farmland -- the accessible areas, anyway. 

"Of course, I can't speak with much authority," he said hesitantly. "but I don't think it's all that bad. It'd be a shame to give up now, ____." I kept my head down as we walked back toward the house.

"I just feel like I'm letting my grandfather down, in a way," I admitted. 

"But you've put in so much work already, I'm certain he'd be proud if he were here," he insisted.

"Maybe," was all I managed to reply. We had slowed to a stop. 

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," he pleaded. "I'm sure it's difficult, and I know that being in a new place all by yourself brings a whole other set of challenges. But I think a little patience will go a long way. Please, just give it some time." 

I wasn't sure what to say, or why he seemed so invested in my staying in Pelican Town. I thought back to what he had said on the docks the day before. He seemed genuinely concerned, and it was nice to know that he understood where I was coming from, at least on some level. But I still wasn't sure if I was truly cut out for life on the farm. I didn't want to make any promises, especially to someone I barely knew. I stared at the ground as I tried to think of something to say to him, but I kept coming up blank. 

That's when I noticed a small duck feather laying on the ground. It was a little frayed at the bottom, but mostly in good shape. I bent down to pick it up, spinning it back and forth between my fingers to get a good look at it. A small smile crept upon my face as I thought of how happy Elliott was as he fed and played with my ducks. Holding onto the quill, I held the feather out to him. Elliott's face softened as he took it, looking it over and then gently placing it in his breast pocket. We stood in silence, holding eye contact for just a second too long before he bashfully looked away. I bit my lip as I felt my own cheeks flush, but hoped that it wasn't too noticeable.

"I suppose I should be going soon," he said, tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. 

"Sure, it was nice of you to stop by," I replied. 

"See you around, ____," he turned back toward the path into town. 

I wasn't sure exactly why, but I felt a little more at ease. Maybe Elliott was right, and things would get easier with time. But then, maybe he wasn't, and I'd eventually have to admit my failure and return to my old life. But for now, I felt somewhat hopeful, and I was happy to stay right where I was. 


	2. Elliott's Cabin

It had been a week or so since Elliott had come to visit me on the farm. The sky had been almost constantly overcast with storm-clouds until it had finally begun to rain on the previous day. The weather finally seemed to be looking up. The sun shone brighter than it had in days, and the clouds appeared to be moving on from Pelican Town. Similarly, my bought of uncertainty seemed to clear away a little as well. The days I spent working on the farm were still long and rough, but at least I was starting to get the hang of things. I was getting better at managing my time, making good progress at trimming back the vines and shrubs, and my vegetable patch was finally beginning to sprout. 

Over all, I was feeling much more optimistic about my future in Pelican Town, and I owed a small debt to Elliott for it. He had encouraged me to stay even a little longer, just to give things a fair shot, and if it weren't for him, I probably would have given up and left the farmhouse to rot. I didn't have much money to buy him a proper thank-you gift, so I headed into the kitchen to whip something up. Though I wasn't sure what kinds of food he liked. Turning to the Queen of Sauce for some inspiration, I decided to make a fresh fruit salad. Surely, anyone would enjoy that. 

When I was done preparing it, I packed everything away for the walk to the beach. The town was relatively quiet in the late afternoons, except for Jas and Vincent, who often played together in the town square under Penny's supervision. Granny Evelyn hovered over planter boxes outside of the saloon, carefully tending to her flowers. There was a sense of slow calm about everyone which really put me at ease. It was the first time in a while that I could take a bit of a break without the stresses of the farm building in the back of my mind. 

As I entered the beach, the sun hung fairly low on the horizon, bathing everything in its warm, pale orange light. The storm-clouds had already passed the southeastern edge of Pelican Town, leaving the sky clear and open. It was better than I could have imagined. The small stretch of beach was quiet and inviting; I could definitely understand why Elliott had made it his home. I approached his cabin, knocking softly on the door. After a few seconds passed, he emerged from behind the creaking wooden door. 

"Ah, ____. What a surprise," he greeted me. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I wanted to stop by," I said.

"Not at all," he replied. "Do come in." He took a step back, holding the door open as I entered. 

His home was small and quaint, familiar somehow. Though I hadn't known Elliott long, I immediately took notice of how fitting it seemed for him. A large upright piano sat against the back wall, and I silently wondered if I'd ever get the chance to hear him play. In the corner was a small writing desk, almost overflowing with crumpled papers. He must have followed my gaze.

"Please excuse the mess, I wasn't expecting company," he said, almost blushing. 

"It's no problem," I assured him. "You have a lovely home."

"It's just enough for a hermit like me," he chuckled. 

I continued on, looking about the room, noticing the smaller things. A couple potted plants, a painting of a small green cube, and a red book on an end table in the corner. His bed was neatly made, and both the header and foot-board featured intricate carvings. I made my way to the center of the room before turning back around to look at him. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, and I realized I had almost forgotten why I came. 

"I brought this for you," I said, reaching into my bag and handing him the tupperware container. "It's a fruit salad, I wanted to thank you for encouraging me to stay in Pelican Town. You were right." 

"Oh, ____, you shouldn't have!" he said excitedly. "It looks marvelous." 

"I really wasn't sure what to make for you, I hope you like it." 

Elliott went to set it down on his desk, but paused. "Hmmm, you'll have to excuse me for a moment," he said, handing the container back to me. The next thing I knew, he was fluttering around the room, clearing off his desk and moving it out from its place against the wall. He disappeared into a walk-in closet on the far end of the room and emerged with a fold-out chair and a place setting for each of us, which he quickly arranged on the makeshift dining table. 

"That's more like it," he said proudly. "Sorry for that, I usually eat at my desk alone. Shall we?" he gestured to one of the open chairs while taking his place behind it, waiting. I thanked him as he helped me into my seat. He sat down opposite from me and pushed up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, exposing his lean forearms. I had to fight the urge to stare. 

"So, things on the old farm are finally looking up?" he asked as he began to scoop our servings onto the plates. 

"Absolutely, it just took a little more getting used to than I had hoped," I answered honestly. 

"I'm glad to hear it. I myself had a hard time adjusting to my new life here, you know." 

"I never would have guessed," I admitted. 

"Well, I've always wanted to be a writer. It's why I moved here in the first place, I just wanted a nice, quiet life by the sea so I could focus on my literary aspirations. But everyone back home told me I was crazy, that I would never make it," he explained.

"That's awful," I said. "I'm so sorry they put you down like that." 

"Bunch of pessimists," he said. "But when I got here, I was having trouble getting my novel started. Every idea that came to me seemed so juvenile. I started to doubt myself. I thought they were right, and I should never have come here." 

"...But?" I urged, looking up at him with an encouraging smile. 

"I stuck it out, things got better. I still haven't finished my novel, but I'm working on it. Sometimes I still have my doubts, but it's all part of the process, ____." 

"Well, for what it's worth, I believe in you," I said.

"I know that. I could tell from the moment we met, you've got that spark," he smiled shyly, before turning his attention back to his plate and taking a bite. 

"____, this is delicious. Thank you for bringing it, it's not very often that I get to eat something made fresh from home." 

"Of course," I replied. "I'm glad you like it." 

We continued to eat and make small talk, and before I knew it, the sun was beginning to set. There was a natural pause in conversation, and for once the silence wasn't too terribly uncomfortable. I had begun to really enjoy spending time with Elliott, and though I wasn't quite ready to leave, I surely didn't want to overstay my welcome.

"Well, I should probably be on my way soon," I said, reaching for the now empty container and placing it back in my bag. Elliott rose from his seat and held a hand out to help me up from mine. "It was lovely seeing you again, ____," he said. "Feel free to come visit me any time you need a break from your labors." 

"I might just have to take you up on that," I replied, heading for the door.

"Oh, ____. Before I forget," he called as I turned the doorknob. "What kind of books do you like?" 

I paused to think for a moment before answering. "Romance, I guess. Now that I think about it, it's just about all I read." 

"I'll remember that," he nodded.


	3. Pomegranate

As I worked on the farm, time seemed to slow down. Each day seemed to drag on, and I really enjoyed the feeling of doing everything at a leisurely pace. I had no standard job to attend to, where I lived my life according to someone else's schedule. I spent my days looking after my animals, tending my vegetable patch, and keeping the house clean. I was really settling in. In the mornings, I woke up to the sun peaking up over my opened windowsill, slightly sore, but well rested. My muscles were finally beginning to get used to their newfound daily exercises. I strolled to the kitchen, where I usually had an omelet for breakfast, made with eggs from my own chickens. 

Of course, I had learned to allow myself a break when it was needed. On those lazier days, I'd stay inside and wrote short poems or knit. When it was time to get back to work though, I took comfort in knowing I truly was working to live, and I only really needed to do enough to keep myself afloat. And it wasn't too difficult, either. My vegetables were coming in nicely now, which supplied me with most of my food, and I was able to sell any excess to Pierre for a little extra income. I'd also recently learned to make mayonnaise from my chickens' eggs, which covered a fair amount of my expenses as well. I was feeling really accomplished with myself; I was only one person after all, and I was in no rush to try and operate a farm at maximum capacity all on my own. I understood that these things would just take a little time to settle. 

One morning, just at the turn of the season, when the long, hot, Summer days were beginning to fade into the crisp evenings of Fall, I was out in the field, working my way through what remained of the overgrowth of trees, shrubs, and vines. I'd made fair progress, and I must have been at least halfway to the back edge of my lot, when I noticed it. A tall tree, which looked like something out of an old book of fairytales. Its branches had twisted around each other tightly as they grew, and they were covered in buds of many different colors, sizes, and shapes. I'd never seen anything like them before; some were almost like small flowers, long and tapered though they trumpeted out at the end, with several small seed stems in the center. Others were peppered with red patches, and they took a more rounded shape which seemed to bow out and split apart at the bottom in jagged points. 

I wasn't sure what to make of it, and part of me worried that it might be poisonous. I decided to hold off on trimming the area surrounding it, just in case. I moved on and continued my work, though I couldn't help but keep looking back at the strange tree I'd discovered. My mind wondered off as I worked, imagining how just such a tree might randomly appear in the middle of a long abandoned field. 

Maybe it was some sort of prehistoric tree, the likes of which hadn't been seen in thousands of years, and it was unearthed several years ago as my grandfather tilled the land, and it had taken until now to take root and mature. Or, maybe it was from another planet altogether, brought here on accident by aliens when they came to draw their circular patterns, using Grandpa's crops as their canvas. Of course, both were highly unlikely, but dreaming up the different scenarios made the hours of work seem to glide by. 

As the afternoon sun began its journey back down over the horizon, my train of thought had traveled far beyond the origins of the strange tree. I'd almost forgotten it, until I turned back toward the house to head inside for the day. 

~

A few more weeks passed as I continued my work. My veggie patch was now flourishing, my crops producing far beyond the amount I needed to sustain myself, and I was quite excited. Sure, I'd sold a fair amount of my excess crops to Pierre up to this point, but this would be my first big harvest. As I packed my produce into the bed of my wagon, it dawned on me that I still hadn't identified the mysterious fruit tree. I made the short walk over to it and noticed that the rounded buds had transformed into large, full orbs. They had significantly darkened in color, the red patches spreading across the surface until none of the pale green remained. I retrieved my pocket knife and reached up to free the fruit from the thick vine that held it. I cut a few more for good measure, then turned to leave.

I placed them in with my other crops and made my way to Pierre's. In my excitement, I had rushed through my morning routine and collected my crops in record time. I arrived just as Pierre was unlocking the front door. 

"Ah, good morning, ____," he greeted me cheerfully, holding the door open as I pulled my wagon through. "Looks like you've got quite a harvest today."

"Sure do," I answered. 

He took his place behind the counter as I began unloading my bundles of wheat, bok choy, and beets to be weighed. We made light conversation as he checked my crops and scratched out the sums on a notepad. "Anything else?" he asked. It was then that I realized I had almost forgotten to ask about my mystery fruit. 

"One more thing, actually," I said, picking one up from the bottom of the wagon bed. "I found this tree in my yard, and it started producing. I'm not sure what it is, have any ideas?" I placed it on the counter. 

"Ah, a pomegranate," he said without even an ounce of hesitation, making me feel a bit silly. Of course, Pierre had much more gardening experience than I had. "You've never had one?" 

"Afraid not," I shook my head. He reached under the counter and retrieved a small utility knife. 

"May I?" he gestured to the pomegranate. 

"Sure." 

He began to cut it open, the dense rind making a sort of scratching sound as the knife worked its way through. Once he had completed a full ring around the outer edge, he finished separating the halves with a swift pull and held them open for me to see. Several tiny red beads were suspended in thick, white walls. A few of the seeds rolled out onto the counter. 

"They're a little messy," Pierre chuckled, handing a half back to me. "Caroline likes to add them to her tea every once in a while." I plucked a few seeds out and held them in my hand, leaving trails of thin juice along my palm as they rolled with my movement. Deciding to give them a taste, I scooped them into my mouth. They were lightly sweet with a little hint of tang to them; I could definitely see the appeal. Pierre finalized our transaction as I wrapped up the rest of the pomegranate for later.

"Well, thank you for identifying my mystery fruit, Pierre," I called as I made my way out the door. 

"No problem, take care ____," he replied, giving a small wave. 

I struggled to pull my wagon through the shop door before it swung shut again, and in my haste, I felt myself back into someone. "Sorry," I said reflexively. I was too busy trying to free the back wheel from where it caught on the doorframe, pulling at it with one hand as the other strained to hold the door open. I looked up in surprise when I suddenly felt the pressure of the door leave my palm. It was Elliott, holding the door open for me. 

"You look like you could use a little help," he smiled shyly. I couldn't help but blush as I clumsily hurried to pull the wagon the rest of the way through. 

"Sorry," I sighed, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I didn't mean to bump into you." 

"It's no problem at all," he assured me. "How are things on the farm?" 

"It's funny you should ask, I just had Pierre identify fruit from a strange tree I found a few weeks back," I answered, reaching for one of the remaining pomegranates and holding it out to him. 

"A pomegranate?" he asked in surprise. "These are my favorite." 

"Here, take one," I offered. 

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Of course, I've got plenty more coming in," I nodded. "I didn't even know if they were edible until just now anyway." 

"Thank you, ____," he smiled. "You're very kind."

I felt my cheeks flush again, and I had a hard time maintaining eye contact. 

"How's your novel coming along?" I asked, changing the subject. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. So pomegranate trees probably aren't that hard to identify. But honestly, they are pretty strange looking, wouldn't you say? Especially the buds. Like imagine if you'd never seen one before, and your first encounter with this tree is when it's at its PEAK level of weird shapes, tell me you wouldn't be absolutely baffled. You know I'm right. (If you haven't seen a pomegranate tree when it's blossoming, hit up google and get back to me.) All jokes aside, thanks a bunch for reading if you've made it this far.


	4. Saloon

I'd spent most of the week alone on the farm, trying to get used to my new schedule. As the season wore on, I noticed the sun slowly but surely begin to make its descent earlier and earlier in the day, and there was definitely an adjusting period. I was beginning to get the hang of things again though, and it renewed my confidence. I was looking forward to the winter months ahead, which would give me time to take a step back from most of my daily tasks, and I could plan and budget for a productive spring. 

After such a busy week, I was glad to have made it through to another weekend. With a quick shower and a change of clothes, I had prepared myself to step out into the crisp twilight, and begin my walk to the Stardrop Saloon. Being honest, I was feeling a little lonely; I figured that mingling with the other townspeople would do me some good. Still, as I arrived at the door, part of me hesitated to go inside. I knew the feeling would fade after the initial nerves, so I pulled at the door handle and stepped in anyway. 

The saloon was never more filled with life than at 8pm on a Friday. A low buzz filled the room; the sound of engaging conversation and laughter just barely audible above the loud music which the jukebox in the corner supplied. It played one of Mayor Lewis' favorites, and he bopped his head along to the beat as he sat on the barstool next to Marnie. 

I approached the bar and retrieved a menu from the stack which sat beside the register. Unfolding it, I tried to decide on what to order for dinner, though I was quickly interrupted by a slightly tipsy Lewis. 

"____! I'm glad to see you out on the town tonight," he shouted a little louder than necessary. 

"It's nice to see you too," I replied.

"I always said your grandfather worked too hard. Good thing you seem to be going a little easier on yourself," he said, nodding and taking a sip of his drink. Marnie took the opportunity to return Lewis' attention to their former conversation, leaving me free to turn back to the menu. After a while, Gus noticed me waiting by the register.

"Sorry for the wait, ____. I'll be with you in just a moment," he assured me. 

"It's no problem," I replied, slipping into an open bar stool. 

My eyes began to wander around the room as I waited. Pam sat at the left end of the bar, nursing her first beer out of what would undoubtedly become several before the night was over. Emily shimmied and twirled about behind the bar, turning every movement into a dance while she worked. Robyn and Demetrius danced along as well in their typical spot by the dining tables. I noticed Shane in the corner, idly sipping his beer by himself as he usually did. Abigail sat on a sofa on the far end of the room, watching Sebastian absolutely dominate Sam at pool for the hundredth time. There was a sort of rhythm that the entire town seemed to fall into; predictable but somehow still vibrant and lively. It was almost overwhelming. 

The song faded to an end, leaving the saloon marginally quieter for a brief moment as the jukebox queued up the next one. The saloon door opened and shut, triggering the entry bell. I looked up, surprised to see Elliott standing in the doorway, removing his coat and hanging it on a waiting hook by the door. I watched as he scanned the room, a slight smile creeping onto his face as his eyes met mine. I waved him over. 

"____, always nice to see you," he greeted me. 

"I was just about to order some dinner, if you'd like to join me," I offered, trying to hide the sudden shyness I felt. 

"Absolutely," he agreed and took the seat to my left. "I was just stopping in for a meal myself. I got carried away during my writing session and lost track of the time. Spending a little downtime at the saloon always helps me relax though." 

"Sounds like you're making good progress," I said as I passed him my menu. 

"It's coming along quite nicely," he said proudly. Gus emerged from behind the Dutch doors which separated the main room from the kitchen, carrying a tray with several plates. 

"I think I'll order the spaghetti," Elliott said. "Gus makes an excellent sauce, have you tried it?" 

"No, I can't say that I have," I answered. "Though I'd like to, if it's as good as you say." Elliott smiled, closing the menu and placing it back on top of the stack. Gus finally made his way over to us after passing out the previous round of meals. 

"You guys ready to order?" Gus asked. 

"We'd both like an order of your spaghetti," Elliott replied. 

"Got it," Gus nodded, scratching a note into his pocketbook. "Anything to drink?" 

"Some of your finest ale for me, and perhaps some wine for ____?" he turned to me, raising an eyebrow. I nodded in response. 

"I'll have it right out," Gus said, turning to attend to the other patrons. We sat for a moment, waiting for our meals. I tried to search for something else to talk about, but I was having a hard time focusing with all of the background chatter. Elliott idly played with a strand of his hair as we sat, seemingly content with the silence. Seeing him at ease helped me to relax a little as well. After a few moments, Emily brought over our drinks. 

"Shall we toast?" Elliott raised his glass. 

"To what?" I asked.

"To..." he trailed off, pausing for a moment to think. "To our friendship." I couldn't help but smile.

"Alright then," I tapped the edge of my glass to his. "To us." 

~

Elliott was right, Gus' spaghetti sauce was delicious. Then again, so was just about everything he made. Gus had this way of making even the simplest of dishes seem decadent. By the time we had finished our meal, Elliott had just polished off his second pale ale, and the alcohol seemed to be taking affect. 

I'd never seen him tipsy before; he seemed to keep most of his composure, though he was visibly more at ease than ever. Though he slurred here and there, he managed to speak at a much higher speed than usual, his eyes bright with excitement as he rambled on about anything that came to mind. I just nodded along as I listened, trying to conceal the smile that grew on my face. I was really enjoying seeing this looser, sillier side of him. My glass of wine was still a third full as I had been pacing myself so as not to get too tipsy for the walk home. 

There was a slight lull in conversation as Gus collected our now empty plates. The jukebox momentarily went quiet once again, switching to the next song on the playlist. Elliott's eyes widened as the music picked back up, and he rose from his seat. 

"Oh, it's this one!" he said excitedly. "____, we just have to dance to this song." He held out his hand, slowly swaying as he tried to stand in place. I hesitated. I'd never really danced before, and the last thing I wanted to do was make a fool of myself on the busiest night at the saloon. But Elliott was stood next to me, waiting for me to take his hand, and I decided not to disappoint him. A wide, goofy smile spread upon his face as I slipped off of the bar stool. He pulled me nearer to the corner of the room, where a gap in the tables left us more space to dance. 

I had briefly imagined Elliott to be a fairly graceful and composed dancer, and maybe he was. In his current state however, it was probably more accurate to describe his movement as a sort of clumsy sway than a dance. Still, I found his enthusiasm deeply charming. Suddenly, I didn't care about what anyone else must be thinking at the sight of us. Elliott, still holding my hand, twirled me around before scooping me back up in his arms as the song played on. We bumbled about in a loose waltz, giggling like mad as we went. 

As the song faded, we began to calm down, though our light laughter remained. Once we had caught our breaths, and we were as still as we could manage, our eyes met. For a moment, I could have sworn that we were the only two people on earth. Though it was over almost as quickly as it had come. Part of me was slightly disappointed when he gently pulled away and turned to head back to our seats. The feeling was entirely unexpected, and I tried to push past the slow-growing haze in my brain to understand why. Probably just the alcohol, I brushed it off.

Elliott leaned against the bar, tucking his now messy hair behind his ears. "Thank you for indulging me," he chuckled.

"I had so much fun," I replied, taking one last sip of my wine. "Though I probably wouldn't have done anything like that if it weren't for you."

"No?" he asked.

"You seem to have this way of coaxing me out of my comfort zone," I admitted though I couldn't bring myself to look at him. 

"...That's a good thing, right?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Of course," I smiled sheepishly. "You've been quite a positive influence." 

"I'm glad to hear that," he replied. Another moment of silence passed between us, and I noticed that the crowd at the saloon had died down a little. I checked my watch, shocked to see how much time had passed since my arrival. 

"Oh goodness," I mumbled. "I didn't realize how late it was getting." Elliott nodded.

"Hey Gus, I think we're ready for the bill," he called. 


	5. Crab Cakes

It was just days before the Spirit's Eve festival, and Pelican Town was bustling in preparation. Pierre had been especially busy, trying to ensure there would be plenty of fresh ingredients for the buffet him and Gus were working to set up. Truth be told, they were going above and beyond this year, and Pierre had underestimated the work load. So he commissioned me to grow a few extra crops to help fill in the gaps, which I had managed to do with the help of his signature speed-grow fertilizer. 

I dropped off the produce the previous day, and so my work to contribute to the festival was done. As the season came to a close, I had a lot of extra time on my hands. I'd spent some of my downtime catching up on the knitting project I had been neglecting, and I had even written a few new poems. Still, I wasn't used to all of the sitting around, and I was beginning to get restless. I knew it would just take some getting used to, but in the mean time I decided that having some company would be a welcome distraction. And who better to invite round than my dearest friend in Pelican Town, Elliott? 

My only regret was specifically inviting him over for _lunch_. It was only on the night before our scheduled lunch date that I realized I had no idea what to make. There were two meals I knew for certain that Elliott would like. The first being fruit salad, which I'd already made for him once, and which required several ingredients that were now out of season. The second, of course, was Gus' spaghetti, which we'd eaten fairly recently, and which I would likely never be able to fully replicate. I heaved a frustrated sigh as I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

I pulled open my kitchen cupboards, searching for anything that might be of use. Thankfully, I had all of the staples; flour, rice, sugar, oil, and an array of various spices and herbs. If only I could think of an interesting way to combine them. I turned to my refrigerator, once again thoroughly underwhelmed by its contents. Opening a drawer at the bottom, something caught my eye; a container which held two small crabs I had recently captured in the crab pot Willy gifted me. 

I recalled a Queen of Sauce episode I watched a few weeks back, which featured a recipe for crab cakes. With a new sense of excitement, I scrambled for my notebook, flicking through pages as fast as my hands would allow until I found my copy of the recipe. I was struggling to keep up in certain steps, which was visible in the vast sections on the page in which my usual neat handwriting had suddenly transformed into a frantic scrawl. I read the page over, then returned to my cupboard to double check for all of the necessary ingredients. I was somewhat relieved.

While I wasn't terrible in the kitchen, I also wasn't the best. It often took me several tries to finally nail down a new technique or recipe. And since my time was fairly limited, the pressure was definitely on. Though I hadn't any better ideas, so it was a risk I decided I had to take. Satisfied, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. I had never cooked a crab before, let alone shelled one. And of course, the Queen of Sauce never had to prep her own ingredients, so her demonstration was no help in that regard. 

I had no choice but to wing it and hope for the best. After looking the crabs over for a while, I made the best plan of attack I could manage with my lack of experience and dug in. It was a lot more difficult than I initially guessed, and I struggled for quite a while to collect the crab meat. I was mildly disappointed when, after all of the work I put into it, I had only a small bowl of usable crab. It wasn't exactly the most bang for my buck, but it would do. 

I looked up at the clock to find that I had spent considerably longer than I hoped on this one task, and it was only the first step in the recipe. I was frustrated and tired, and looking at the steps I still had yet to complete was overwhelming me, but I knew I had to press on. The rest of the process wasn't so bad though; it was mostly measuring and mixing ingredients, for which I was grateful. After patting the mixture into shape and laying my cakes out in between layers of parchment, I slid the baking sheet in place on a shelf in my fridge and called it a night. 

~

The next morning, I rose with an intense feeling gnawing in my stomach. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something I had forgotten to do. In a panic, I rushed downstairs to check on the crab cakes. They remained in their place on the refrigerator shelf, waiting patiently. If it wasn't the crab cakes, what could it be? I decided to brush it off for now and keep busy. But by the time my few remaining crops were watered, and my animals were fed, the feeling still persisted. I checked my watch; 12:42, he'd be arriving soon. 

I wasn't looking forward to the rest of the cooking; it had gone fairly well up to this point. A little _too_ well. It would be just my luck that I'd find a way to mess things up this late in the game. But I knew that my friend was on his way, and I couldn't afford to disappoint him now. It occurred to me that I probably should have come up with a backup plan, just in case. Of course, there was no point in pondering could'ves and should'ves now. I needed to focus on the task at hand. Sighing, I glanced at my recipe notes and set the temperature dial on my oven to pre-heat. While I waited, I let my mind wander. 

I knew it was silly, but I kept thinking back to the night at the saloon. Being totally honest, I had thought of little else in the recent past. I just couldn't help myself. In the moment, I had blamed it on the glass of wine I drank with my dinner, which was already a weak excuse. But even by the next morning, when there was no chance that I hadn't managed to sober up, I couldn't pry the thought of Elliott's gaze out of my mind. I didn't want to accept that there in the saloon, as the music faded and we caught our breaths, I had seen something in his eyes that I hadn't before, and I especially didn't want to accept the consequences. But I was just being ridiculous, wasn't I? I just had too much extra time on my hands. Surely, it was just the boredom getting to me.

_Ding_. The oven interrupted my train of thought, for which I was grateful. I checked the arrangement of the crab cakes one last time before sliding the sheet into the oven. Checking my watch again, my stomach dropped. 12:54, any minute now. I wandered into the guest bedroom and spent a moment checking myself in the mirror. I briefly considered changing, but it was too late now. Tugging nervously at the hem of my shirt, I turned to leave. As if on queue, I heard a knock at the door, setting off the butterflies in my stomach once again. I tucked my hair behind my ear and took a deep breath. 

"Good afternoon, ____," Elliott smiled. I dropped my gaze almost instantly to avoid blushing.

"Hey," I returned. "Lunch isn't quite ready yet, but come in and make yourself comfortable." 

As he stepped through the doorway, I thought back to the first time I'd visited him in his cabin. I remembered thinking his home felt very fitting for him. There were little traces of him everywhere, details about him that I hadn't yet learned. But as I looked around the room, they seemed to snap into place, proving small theories and assumptions I hadn't realized I made in the back of my mind. I silently wondered if he was thinking something similar as he saw my own home for the first time. 

"It smells wonderful," he noted. "May I ask what you're making?" 

"Crab cakes," I answered. 

"Marvelous! That's one of my favorite dishes, you know." He took a seat behind the breakfast bar. 

"Oh really? I'm so glad to hear that. I wasn't sure what you'd like," I admitted. "I just threw together the ingredients I had on hand. Pierre is so busy with his preparations for the Spirit's Eve festival, I didn't want to bother him at the shop." I could feel myself rambling, but I couldn't seem to stop. What had gotten into me?

"That's very thoughtful of you," he said, casually picking a pomegranate from the fruit bowl I kept on the counter and turning it over in his hands. "If it makes you feel any better, I've never been a very picky eater." A half-smile crept upon his face, and my stomach fluttered. 

"I'll keep that in mind," I replied, trying to keep it light this time. A moment passed before the oven timer beeped once more, signalling that the crab cakes were done. I hurried over, removing the tray before they had any chance to burn and placing them onto a cooling rack. Elliott returned the pomegranate to the bowl. 

"They seem to have turned out perfectly," he hummed.

"I sure hope so," I replied. "It's my first time making them, I'd hate for them to be subpar." 

"Oh I'm certain they'll be just fine," he assured me. "You seem to have a natural talent for cooking, ____." I smiled lightly, trying to hide how much his compliment pleased me. Turning to the cupboard, I brought down my grandmother's old picnic basket and began to pack it. 

"I thought it might be nice to eat outside today," I told him. "Before the weather turns too cold." 

"That sounds lovely," he said, standing up and pushing the counter stool back in place. 

We made our way back outside and across the field, toward the pomegranate tree. The sky was bright and cloudless, the sun shining on us from above. When we arrived, we picked the shadiest spot, and Elliott helped me spread out an old blanket for us to sit on while we ate. The wind picked up, catching his hair and blowing it lightly back. I had to admit, he looked rather handsome today. I felt almost guilty for thinking of him in that way, like I was violating some sort of unspoken agreement. Though it wasn't like he was putting up boundaries, in fact he seemed very open and comfortable with me. Maybe...

I stopped that thought short and turned my attention back to the picnic basket, pulling out plates and flatware to serve the crab cakes with. Elliott sat just inches across from me, leaning back on an arm and stretching his long legs out in front of him. I tried to avert my eyes as I passed him his plate. He thanked me, and his eyes lit up as he took his first bite. 

"____, this is delicious," he said excitedly, earning a light laugh from me. "Pardon my enthusiasm." 

"It's alright," I said, nudging him with my elbow. "I like your enthusiasm." The smile on his face widened. 

"You know, your crab cake recipe is remarkably similar to my grandmother's," he told me. "Some of my fondest memories are from when my grandfather and I used to go to the beach. We'd sit on the boardwalk and spend hours just chatting and catching crabs. Then we brought them home to Granny, and she made crab cakes for dinner." 

"That's really sweet," I replied. "As I mentioned before, I was close with my grandfather as well. He's the whole reason I'm here, and I'll be forever thankful that he gave me this opportunity. If it weren't for him..." I paused, gathering the courage. "If it weren't for him, I never would have met you, and I consider you a very dear friend."

"The feeling is mutual, ____," Elliott said. I managed to look him in the eyes for the first time since he arrived. He returned my gaze, his expression fully sincere. It took everything in me not to blush. "I'm really glad that you decided to stay." 

We sat in a comfortable silence as we ate. The wind picked up in gusts every so often, rustling the canopy of leaves above us and making the shadows on the ground dance. When Elliott finished his crab cake, he set his plate aside and laid back against the base of the pomegranate tree.

"Just look at this incredible landscape. I think your grandfather would be proud of all the work you've done." 

After a while, we packed the dishes and leftovers back into the picnic basket and went for a short walk around the farm lands. Elliott insisted that we stop in for a quick visit with the ducks, and I was happy to oblige. When we circled back to the house, he walked me to the door. 

"Thanks again for the meal, ____. It was lovely."

"It's my pleasure," I returned. "I'm glad you liked it." 

"I should be on my way now though, still lots of writing to do," he said. I wanted to ask how things were going, but I also didn't want to pry. I settled for a quick nodding in response. He turned to leave, and made it down the first few of the porch steps before I remembered the crab cakes I had leftover.

"Oh wait!" I called, and hastily popped inside to wrap them up for Elliott to take home. 

"I made a couple extra, I know you don't cook much in your cabin," I said, passing through the door again and handing them down to him.

"You're too kind," he smiled. "Well, I'll be off then." 

"See you around." 

When I was back inside, and the door was closed behind me, I realized that my cheeks were sore from smiling. Still, I couldn't help myself. I had been shutting the thoughts down all day, but I finally allowed my mind to run free. Butterflies don't lie. Things were changing, and there was no going back.


	6. Somber

I stood in the kitchen, humming to myself as I made my way through the stack of dishes I left to sit on the counter for a little too long. The seasons were still slowly making their transition, and the days were getting shorter and shorter. While I was sad to see my fall crops go, I was at least a little relieved that I had more free-time to adjust to my always-shifting sleeping schedule. I groggily stood at the sink, wiping away the crumby remains of my previous meals from each plate, when I heard a knock at the door. 

I hadn't been expecting anyone, and my stomach twisted with nervousness. Had I forgotten something? I quickly wiped my hands and glanced at my reflection in the entryway mirror before answering the door. I wasn't exactly looking my best; the skin beneath my eyes had turned a pale purple from my lack of sleep. My hair was visibly messy – not quite tangled, but the myriad of flyaway strands was definitely noticeable. I did what I could to quickly tame the frizz, took a deep breath, and reluctantly opened the door.

Leah stood in the doorway before me, looking bright and cheerful as ever. "Hey" she greeted me. "I was just coming to check on you. We were supposed to do some gardening today, remember?"

"Right, of course," I scrambled for a response. "I'm sorry, I've just been a little forgetful lately."

"Is this a bad time?" she asked.

"No, not at all. I was just doing some cleaning," I assured her. "Let me get my coat, I'll be right out." 

~

Leah's small garden patch was surprisingly impressive. Like me, she grew most of her own food. It baffled me that she had managed to keep her crops alive through the first frost. But winter was steadily closing in, and she knew they wouldn't last much longer where they were. 

"Thanks for all of your help, _____," she said as we carried the newly re-potted plants inside. "This would have taken me ages to do alone." 

"No problem," I replied. "Sorry again for being so late though." 

"Don't worry about it, sometimes the day just gets away from you. Happens to the best of us." 

I glanced at the clock. It was 4:45. "Oh no," I gasped. "I totally forgot I needed to head to Willy's to buy some bait for my crab pots today."

"You could probably still make it there in time," Leah reassured me. I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed for the door. 

"Hey, _____," she called after me. "Have you heard from Elliott lately? He usually goes for walks in the forest, but I haven't seen him around in a couple days." Truth be told, I had been so absent-minded, I hadn't given the matter much thought.

"Now that you mentioned it, I don't think I have," I answered honestly.

"Well, since you're headed that way, would you mind checking on him? I'm starting to get worried." 

"Of course," I said. "See you later." 

"Thanks again."

~

On my way to the beach, I couldn't help but worry. Sure, Elliott had a tendency to keep to himself, but even then he didn't stray too far from his typical pattern. It wasn't at all unusual to see him wondering around the town, lost in thought. He wasn't the most social person, but he still made appearances here and there. I tried to bury the concern, reasoning it away. He was probably just hard at work on his novel. I wouldn't want to risk interrupting a good writing session, but I had promised Leah...

Clouds hung low in the sky, dark and looming. Thunder roared as a few droplets of rain began to sprinkle down. As I rounded the corner to Willy's shop entrance, already closed for the day, I noticed Elliott, stood unmoving in his place on the docks, gazing out at the vast horizon. I felt a small surge of worry. It wasn't like him to be outside on a day like this; he was usually too concerned about the state of his coat and his hair to let the rain anywhere near him. Though that apparently wasn't the case today. I approached him slowly, and my stomach turned. I could feel that something was off, but I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was. 

"Elliott?" I called out to him softly. His head shot up and he turned to glance at me before quickly looking away again. He looked paler than usual, and the tired skin under his eyes matched the greyish purple of mine. He looked exhausted. I hurried closer to him. "Are you alright?" He paused for a moment, composing himself. He clearly wasn't in much of a state to chat.

"I'm just a little stressed," he answered flatly, though he still wouldn't meet my eyes. 

"What's wrong?" I asked. He was quiet again, and my concern grew as I waited for him to speak. He seemed to be carefully choosing his words. After a long pause, he sighed. I had never seen him like this before, and I was at a loss for how to help him. I certainly didn't want to do anything to exacerbate the problem. It hit me then that maybe he wasn't the type to want to talk about it with someone else, that maybe searching for an explanation would cause him even more stress. My realization was followed by an almost immediate regret. 

"I'm sorry," I said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm just worried." He nodded in response, and we stood in silence for another moment. I tried to think of something I could do for him, but I kept coming up blank. I thought it might be best to leave him alone, and let him come to me when he was ready. But the thought of leaving him there on his own didn't sit right with me. 

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I said lightly. "But I hope you know that you don't have to deal with whatever you're going through alone, either." I walked to the bench in front of Willy's shop and took a seat, leaving enough room for Elliott as an open invitation. He half-turned to face my direction before sullenly making his way to the bench after me. I looked at him and gave him the best encouraging smile I could manage. Our eyes met for the first time, and I noticed how red and bloodshot his were. I tried to mask my concern so as not to upset him further, but he was in pretty rough shape. 

Averting my eyes, I retrieved a thermos from my bag and poured some tea into a travel cup. I held it out to him in offering, and he accepted it with a shaky hand. If nothing else, I decided that maybe just being here with him was enough. We sat on the pier for what felt like forever, but I didn't mind. The rain still trickled down, not quite heavy enough to be bothersome. Through the clouds, the setting sun slowly burned its way over the horizon. Truth be told, I was beginning to get a little antsy. What would I do if we sat here until nightfall? Would it be strange of me to see him home? What if I couldn't get him to leave the pier? 

"Thank you," he said, breaking my train of thought. His voice was unusually raspy. "For being here."

"Of course," I sighed. Silence fell once more, and my concern quickly followed it. I didn't want to force him to open up, but I couldn't help him if I didn't know what was wrong. As if reading my mind, he took a sharp breath in. 

"I wish I could explain it," he began. "Sometimes I just get so overwhelmed."

"I can relate to that," I replied. "When I got to the farm, sometimes I'd wake up and stare out the window at everything and it all just seemed too... _much_." 

"Exactly," he sighed. "Most of the time when I write, it's wonderful. I get to escape to a world I've built for myself, I exist there with the characters I create for a time. But I'm only ever a tourist. I watch and observe and I wait for something to happen. Sometimes it does, and it's exciting, and the stories come naturally. Sometimes I have to work at it, but I get there in the end. But then, sometimes I think I'm on the right path, and I'll keep going for weeks only to find myself at a dead end. And when I look at how I got to this place, none of it makes sense. I've veered too far from my intended path, and the one I'm on is just a tangled mess." 

"That must be very difficult," was all I managed to respond. I was at a loss for words. 

"No one else seems to think so," he turned to me, meeting my eyes once again. "When I told my family I wanted to be an author, they scoffed at me. 'Be realistic,' they said. I was so angry with them for dismissing me so easily. I hate to admit it, but they were right." 

"Elliott," I pleaded. "Don't put yourself down like that." 

"But they were," he argued, his eyes welling up with tears. "I've lived here for almost two years now, I spend all of my time alone in my cabin, and for what? I still have nothing to show for it." The tears began to spill over, and he slumped forward, cradling his head in his hands. My heart broke for him, and I wished now more than ever that I could find a way to help him. Hesitantly, I reached out to gently wrap an arm around his shaking shoulders. He flinched slightly at the touch, and I almost pulled away until he turned to face me, snaking his arms around my waist and leaning into the embrace. 

"I know it's hard now, but it won't always be like this," I said softly, rubbing small circles on his back. "You'll find that inspiration again, I promise." We stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other as he calmed down. It had been a long time since I held someone like that, and I had to admit it felt nice. I only wished it could have happened under better circumstances. When he finally pulled back, his face was red and tear stained. Locks of his hair had gotten soaked in the downpour. I reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, gently wiping his tears away with my thumb. "It's going to be okay," I whispered. 

"I hope you're right," he replied. Thunder roared overhead, and the rain changed its pace from a lazy trickle to a more constant drip. I rose from the bench and held my hand out to Elliott. 

"Come on, let's get you back home," I said. He nodded and took my hand. I was surprised when he kept his hold on it even after I'd helped him up. The sun was almost completely lost to the horizon as we made our way to his little cabin. He slowed to a stop about 15 feet from his door. 

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's getting late," he answered. "I just feel like I should be the one escorting _you_ home." 

"You've had hard day," I protested. "And it's raining, you'll be soaked." 

"It's the least I can do," he insisted, steering toward the beach entrance. 

Clearly there would be no convincing him. We made the long walk back to the farmhouse mostly without speaking. It was a comfortable kind of quiet though, in stark contrast to the tense and overwhelming silence that lingered between us on the pier. I hoped that this newfound sense of relief meant that venting his frustrations had helped Elliott to feel better about things, even if only a little. Still, I worried about him. He spent so much time alone in his cabin, and evidently it was taking a toll. I couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for him to be locked in his small one-room home, with only the company of the four walls around him as he sat hunching over his desk as he wrote. As we reached the porch steps, I paused and turned to face him. 

"I really am sorry you're having such a hard time," I said. "If there's anything you need, please let me know. I'm always here." 

"I know," he said, managing a half smile before he turned to leave.

"You could stay," I called after him. "I feel awful that you have to walk home in the rain, and I've got a pull-out bed you can use for the night." 

"Thank you, _____. You've done more than enough already," he replied.

"Elliott," I pleaded. "I just don't want you to be alone tonight." I held my hand out to him once again, waiting. He stood at the bottom step for a moment as he considered my offer. Finally, he took it. I led him inside and helped him out of his damp coat. 

"Make yourself at home," I told him, placing a pot of tea on the stove-top. He took a seat at the small kitchen table, still looking utterly drained. I quickly climbed up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I began to search the back of my closet for a dry change of clothes for him. I returned to the main floor just as the teapot began to whistle. 

"These are for you," I placed the folded pile of clothing on the table before him. "I even brought a towel so you could have a shower, if you'd like." He nodded, pushing the chair in after he rose from his seat. Halfway across the living room, he slowed to a stop and turned to me. 

"Um, where is your bathroom?" he asked sheepishly.

"Up the stairs, first door on the left." 

I prepared the pull-out bed while he showered, neatly tucking the sheets and blankets around the edges. I had a little time leftover, so I quickly went to my room to change into my own pajamas. By the time he came back downstairs, I was sat at the kitchen table, sipping at my cup of tea and trying to warm up. I placed a cup in front the chair across from me, another open invitation. Elliott shuffled across the living room, taking the open kitchen chair once more as I filled his cup. His hair fell, still damp and limp at his shoulders, the pajamas I'd loaned him - an old pair of grandpa's - hung from his shoulders, slightly baggy on him. All in all, he looked a lot better than he did when I first saw him that afternoon. 

"Feeling better?" I asked, passing the cup back to him. 

"Much," he replied before taking a sip. "Really, _____. I can't thank you enough." 

"It's really no problem," I said. "Anything to help a friend." Another comfortable silence fell over us as we drank our cups of tea and began to shake off the cold. When we finished, I gathered the teapot and cups and placed them in the sink, too tired to wash them now. Elliott tied his hair up and settled into the bed as I collected his damp clothes and put them into the washer. I made my way back to him to make sure he didn't need anything else before I turned in as well.

"You know what really gets me about this whole mess?" he asked, turning onto his side. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at him, waiting for him to go on. 

"It was all going so well. The inspiration was flowing, the story was really coming together. But as I kept going, everything got so off track, it wasn't the story I'd originally wanted to tell. And this morning, when I read back everything I had written, I started to question everything. At this point, I'm afraid it may be beyond repair." 

"I'm sure that's not true," I said, trying my best to be reassuring. "And even if it is, more ideas will come. This isn't your last chance, Elliott. Art is made in mistakes." He laid quietly for a moment, considering. 

"I just really wanted this one to work out," he said, defeated. 

"Just try to get some sleep," I suggested. He nodded, eyes heavy. 

"Goodnight," I whispered, standing up from the bed and heading for the stairs.

"Goodnight," he mumbled. 

~

I woke up later than I had expected to the next morning. The clouds still hung low and dark in the sky, clearly not quite satisfied with their visit in Pelican Town yet. I sat up in bed and stretched, pulling on my robe before heading downstairs to check on Elliott. As I reached the bottom of the staircase, I realized he was gone. The pull-out bed was folded away, the sofa cushions replaced. The sheets and blankets were washed and folded neatly in a pile on top of the dryer, which no longer contained his clothes. I sighed. 

I made my way to the kitchen to start breakfast, where I noticed the dishes from last night had been cleaned and placed on the drying rack. A note sat on the counter beside them. 

_You have shown me such kindness, not just last night, but in each day since we first met. I am incredibly lucky to have someone so caring in my life, and I will be eternally grateful for all that you have done for me._

_\- E_

I felt somewhat sad in his absence. I had hoped he would at least stay for breakfast. I wanted to offer him as much time away from his cabin and the stresses of his work as possible. I wanted to make sure he never felt that way again. The thought of him pacing back and forth alone made my stomach turn. Since he left before I had the chance to see him off, I could only hope that he left feeling at least a little more at peace. 


	7. Ice Skating

Winter in Pelican Town was positively gorgeous. I had awoken one morning to find that the entire landscape surrounding me had been covered by a thick blanket of fresh snow. The rolling hills which framed my plot of land sparkled, the once naked trees were now coated in white. A chill seeped in through the old single-paned windows and filled the house. 

I wrapped myself in my bathrobe, tying it in place while rushing downstairs, eager to warm up. Relief came almost instantly as the burning match met the tinder I'd placed inside my wood-burning stove, but the relentless chill still claimed the upper level of the house. It definitely took some getting used to. I silently promised myself that I'd save up throughout the next year, so I could commission Robin to install the best heating system she could manage in such an old house before the first snow. 

I had spent the first two weeks of winter at home finding new ways of keeping myself busy. Gran had passed away long before Grandpa, but many of her belongings remained. Mostly clothes, half-finished crafts, and several old perfume bottles which had aged far beyond the point of smelling nice. I thought it was sweet that Grandpa had kept them, but there really was no point in hanging onto things that were likely to go unused. 

In my effort to sort through the stack of old boxes at the back of the upstairs linen closet, I'd uncovered a plethora of Gran's old sewing pattern packets. Most of them featured designs that had since fallen well out of fashion, but I did find a couple which intrigued me. I even set aside a few I found suitable to gift to Emily.

Once my home was sufficiently decluttered, I felt very accomplished. There was only one problem, a question that lingered in the back of my mind once all of the housework was done: now what? I considered my options as I worked on my breakfast, settling on a loose plan. Feed the animals, check the mail, head into town to buy some groceries and maybe upgrade a few tools. I checked the clock above the stove; it was surprisingly still fairly early. I returned to my bedroom, humming to myself as I flicked through the clothes in my closet in search of something warm but not too cumbersome. Once I was nicely bundled, I opened my creaking front door and stepped outside.

I paused for a moment, slightly stunned by the crisp winter air stinging in my nose. I drew a deep breath in anyway, coming to enjoy the sensation. The snow crunched pleasantly beneath my feet as I made each careful step down from the front porch and across the field. When I entered the coop, I noticed my ducks and chickens huddling together in the center of the room to keep warm. "Sorry, guys," I said, making a mental note to stop by Marnie's shop for a space heater at some point.

I was never certain when she'd be in, and I had learned to be a little more patient when I arrived only to find the door locked, but it always aggravated me a little anyway. Of course, I supposed I could understand, at least on some level. While they might have been under the impression that they had the whole town fooled, it was really quite well known that Marnie and Lewis were caught up in a long-term affair. The real mystery was why they felt the need to try and keep it hidden. It's not like either of them were in other relationships, and it really wasn't anyone else's business anyway. I just wished - albeit for obviously selfish reasons - that they would stop sneaking around, or at the very least, that they would save their sneaking for after business hours. 

As I went about my work, my mind drifted to Elliott. I had begun to see him in his usual spots around town again, but we hadn't really spoken since he spent the night. I assumed he was still working through things, and I didn't want to pry. Part of me worried that I had made him uncomfortable with the whole ordeal. Of course, I had only meant well, but following his abrupt departure I couldn't help but wonder if I had overstepped my bounds. 

I knew I was probably just worrying for nothing, but it didn't make it any easier to stop. I was beginning to care a lot about him, and I just wanted to do whatever I could to help. I hoped above all else that he understood that. I tried to shake off the thoughts as I marched through the snow back to the house to check the mail. 

Flipping through the small stack of envelopes, I found the usual array of letters; a recipe from Granny Evelyn, Pierre's weekly sales flyer, a transaction ledger from Lewis which detailed each item he collected from the shipping bin and how much it sold for. Among the rest was the seasonal Pelican Town events flyer. Scanning through the page, I found a section which announced that the pond in the forest had finally frozen over and was suitable for ice skating. 

Though I had never done it before, I perked up at the idea. Naturally, there weren't many opportunities to go ice skating when I lived in the city, but I had always wanted to learn. The snow had transformed Pelican Town into a picturesque winter wonderland, and the child in me yearned for all of the classic seasonal festivities I had missed out on for so many years. I had even found an old pair of skates while sorting through the old boxes upstairs. They were a little too large for me, of course. Maybe if I wore an extra pair of socks and tied the laces tightly, I could make them work. With as much haste as I could muster, I excitedly retrieved the skates from their place in the closet before trudging back out to the south edge of the now barren farm field, making for the forest.

In my excitement, I hadn't really thought things through. When I arrived at the now frozen pond, I was instantly enchanted. I guessed at least half of the town was there, making a giant loop as they soared around the pond. Even Vincent and Jas were proficiently gliding by, giving me hope that ice skating wouldn't be so difficult after all. I eagerly pulled off my boots and slid into my skates. But as I tried to stand up from the bench, my ankles wobbled, and my confidence nearly vanished. I held onto the back of the bench as I struggled to steady my shaking legs, but I knew it was a futile effort. Sighing, I settled for sitting back down and watching everyone else enjoy themselves. 

Sam and Sebastian zoomed around, snowballs in hand, playfully threatening to hurl them at each other. Emily twirled her way through everyone, each movement looked like an intricate dance to a song only she could hear. Leah leapt back and forth, tracing patterns into the ice with the blade of her skates. On the far edge of the pond, I spotted Elliott. Though I was clearly biased, I deemed him the most impressive skater in the crowd. I watched in awe as he glided his way across the pond, sweeping one long leg in front of the other, his hair billowing softly behind him. He seemed to be back to his usual self, and I felt relieved for him.

Though I tried, I couldn't seem to turn my gaze away from him. He was certainly a man of many talents. He eventually slowed, changing direction and sizing up the pond for his next feat. That's when he looked my way, and I froze as our eyes met. I was immediately embarrassed; I had been caught staring. I prayed that he hadn't noticed until just then. He turned and started in my direction, and my heart-rate spiked.

"Ah, ____. Have you come to skate, too?" Elliott asked with a bright smile which put me somewhat at ease, though I couldn't quite meet his eyes. Dropping my gaze, I noticed his skates. They were a beautiful pair; a deep burgundy leather with intricate etching swirling up the heels. Knowing Elliott, they were probably vintage, though meticulously maintained. I eyed them almost enviously. They certainly put my weathered, ill-fitting skates to shame. 

"That was the plan," I admitted. "But I couldn't bring myself to leave the bench." 

"That's a shame," he sympathized. "Perhaps I could teach you, if you'd like." 

"Really? You wouldn't mind?" a new wave of excitement washed over me. 

"Not at all," he beamed, offering his hand to me. I took it and reluctantly made my second attempt at standing up. My ankles began to sway once again, and I nearly tipped over. Elliott was quick to scoop an arm around my waist to help me steady, and the sudden closeness made my stomach flutter. 

"Easy now," he murmured. "Just hold onto me and try to find your balance." As I clung to his arm I began to feel a little more at ease. The wobbling in my ankles slowed, and it was easier for me to stand straight. 

"Good," Elliott encouraged. "Do you think you can stand on your own?" My grip on his hand tightened reflexively. 

"No," I pleaded. Elliott chuckled, and I realized how panicked I sounded. "I'm just scared, I don't want to fall." 

"Don't worry, I'm not going to let you fall," he assured me, his eyes sincere as they met mine. "Do you trust me?" I tried in vain to fight the blush rising to the surface, hoping that the cold winter air would help to conceal it at least.

"Of course I trust _you_ ," I confessed. "It's me I don't trust." He positioned himself in front of me, taking my other hand and helping me to straighten out.

"Now you're going to want to turn one of your feet out," he instructed. "And when you're ready, use it to push off." 

I did as I was told, still nervous, but feeling much safer with Elliott there to assist me. We were suddenly moving, albeit slowly. I didn't understand how he seemed so comfortable skating backward in order to guide me, but I wasn't about to question it. My grip on his arm tightened as I realized we were drifting away from the bench. 

"You're doing wonderfully," he said. I had to conceal just how much his praise had pleased me. I turned my attention back to my feet, gradually getting the hang of pushing off with one while staying balanced on the other. Eventually, I was comfortable enough to pick up the pace a little, and I was starting to have fun with it. 

"You make it look so easy," I confessed. "It's amazing, I don't know how you do it." He seemed a little flustered by the compliment.

"It just takes practice," he said humbly. "In fact, I think you're finally ready to go solo." He backed away, releasing my arms as I tried to keep hold of his.

"Elliott, please," I was already beginning to panic. 

"I'm not that far away," he teased. "It shouldn't be too difficult for you to come to me." I tried to keep my balance as I turned out my skate and pushed off toward him. In my effort to return to the safety of his grip, I pushed a little too fast. My ankle buckled, and my ill-fitting skate offered little support as I threw myself forward. He slid hastily back and steadied me. 

"Easy," he reminded me. "I'm sorry, I thought you needed a little motivation. Why don't we just try to circle the pond for now?" 

"Just don't let go this time," I pleaded.

"Of course not," he promised, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. We crept our way around the pond, his patience never wavering as he kept his pace even with mine. Eventually, we looped back to the bench. I took my seat, somewhat frustrated with what little progress I had made. Elliott sat beside me as I changed back into my work boots. 

"Ah, there's the problem," he said. "Those skates don't fit you properly, do they?" 

"No, they really don't. But I found them in the farmhouse, and they're all I've got," I explained. 

"Well, unfortunately, a well-fitting pair of skates is essential. I doubt you'll be able to learn much with those," he said glumly. 

"Oh well," I sighed. "I had fun today, at least. Thank you for trying to teach me." 

"Certainly," he replied. "It was quite fun for me too. I enjoy spending time with you, ____." 

My stomach fluttered and I smiled at the admission, though I tried to brush it off. We sat together for a moment, watching the others. The wind picked up slightly, cutting right through my layers of clothing. I couldn't help but shiver. 

"It is quite frigid today," Elliott remarked. "Perhaps a warm drink would help? My treat, of course." 

"Sure," I accepted, and we rose from our places on the bench. The cold had made my legs slightly stiff, and it felt strange to stand firmly on the ground again. We walked to the edge of the clearing, where Gus and Pierre had opened a small stand. Elliott ordered a hot chocolate for each of us, and we sipped at our drinks as we walked to the eastern end of the forest. 

"I suppose this is where we part ways," he declared when we reached the fork in the path. 

"Thanks again for everything," I said. "Maybe one day I'll have a decent pair of skates and we can try again." 

"I'd love to," he agreed. "See you around, ____." 

"Until next time." 

I replayed the events of the day in my mind as I trekked through the snow, practically buzzing. I couldn't seem to keep a smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. I sighed as I thought of his reassuring nods and his sturdy hands as they grasped mine. Or the way his eyes looked as he promised me he wouldn't let me fall. Practically swooned at the thought, I reached my doorstep, thankful that no one was around to see me in my giddy state. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know it's not even fall yet (at least where I am), but my heart is already aching for some cute wintery shenanigans just let me have this okay. Anyway hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!


	8. Reading

The library was more lively than I'd ever seen it before. A good portion of the town's population was there, excited to hear an excerpt of Elliott's long-awaited first novel, and I was certainly no exception. I had practically screamed in excitement that morning, when I checked my mailbox to find Elliott's hand-written announcement, inviting me to come to his first-ever reading. I had to rearrange a few other things on my to-do list, but there was no way I would be missing this. 

A low hum filled the building, everyone talking amongst themselves as they waited for Elliott to take his place behind the podium at the front of the room. It occurred to me then that I hadn't seen him in the library at all. I was just about to ask around if anyone else had seen him arrive yet, when Leah approached me.

"Hey, I was wondering when I'd see you," she greeted. 

"Hi, Leah. How's the indoor garden holding up?" I asked.

"Surprisingly well," she beamed. "Even my little bean sprout, and it wasn't doing too well outside to begin with. But its come a long way."

"That's good to hear, I'm glad the relocation was a success," I said.

She went on to gush about the progress of her other plants, but I was having a hard time keeping myself engaged in the conversation. My concern pooled in my stomach with every passing moment. I checked my watch; Elliott was supposed to start 10 minutes before. I scanned the room a second time, still finding no sign of him. 

"I'm sure he'll be here soon," Leah tried to assure me. As if on que, Elliott peaked out from behind a bookshelf, just enough for me to see. I almost called out to him, but he held a finger to his lips and waved me over. I told Leah I'd be back and made my way to him as inconspicuously as possible. 

"What's going on? Everyone's waiting for you," I said in a half-whisper. 

"Would it be terrible of me to call this whole thing off?" he asked shakily. 

"Why would you want to do that?" I questioned. "You've worked so hard." 

"That's the problem, ____," he heaved an exasperated sigh, pacing as he looped his fingers through his hair. 

"Hey," I murmured, reaching for his hand to still him. "Come on, you have to talk to me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong." I tucked my legs beneath me as I sat on the floor. I gestured for him to sit too, and he obediently followed me down, taking a deep breath as he leaned against the bookshelf. 

"There's so many people out there," he explained. "What if I've put in all this effort and talked my work up so much, only for everyone to hate it?"

"It couldn't be that bad," I assured him. "I'd be willing to bet you've done a wonderful job, and all of that time you've put into it is going to show through." 

"It was silly of me to put on this event, I've never even shared my work with one person, let alone a whole audience." He shook his head in frustration with himself. I thought for a moment, trying to come up with something to say that might help him overcome his stage fright.

"You trust me, right? You know I'd never judge you harshly?" I asked.

"Of course," he replied.

"So read to me," I suggested. A look of confusion washed over his face.

"What do you mean?" 

"When you go out there, don't focus on anyone else. Pretend it's just me and you, and we're in your cabin, and you're reading to me," I explained.

"____, I just don't think that's going to work," he said glumly. 

"Will you please just try?" I begged. "I'd hate for you to miss out on this because you're afraid." Before he could answer, Gunther came around the corner.

"I'm sorry Elliott, but I can't keep stalling forever," he said. Elliott nodded, rising from the floor and offering a hand to help me up. I took it, and we returned to the front of the room. Upon his 'arrival,' everyone briefly applauded. He was still visibly shaken, but he took his place behind the podium anyway as I rejoined Leah in the audience.

His eyes shifted around the crowd, searching for mine. Once he saw me, I gave him a reassuring nod. He drew in a deep breath, seeming to relax, even if only fractionally. 

"Thank you all f-for coming," he stammered. "Before I begin the reading I'd like to formally dedicate this story to ____." His eyes met mine again, and I smiled shyly. Almost everyone in the crowd turned to look at me, making my skin go hot. While the gesture was undoubtedly kind, I suddenly understood with new clarity why Elliott was so reluctant to be the center of attention, even at his own reading. But he continued on, and as my attention returned to him, everyone else seemed to melt away.

"You've believed in me from the beginning, and you've encouraged me to keep pushing forward, even when I thought I had ruined everything. My gratitude knows no bounds." Another short round of applause filled the room, and I struggled to keep my composure. My cheeks were on fire, and a few tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. It was already hard to contain how proud I was of him, and he was only getting started. 

"My novel is called Camellia Station, and it's about two strangers whose lives begin to change after a chance meeting in a subway station," Elliott explained. He looked to me one last time before opening his book and flipping to the first chapter. 

~

_Vincent trudged through the crowded subway station, much like he did every morning during his commute. He wove through a sea of unfamiliar faces, each one of them rushing off to one place or another, just like him. Truth be told, he was growing fed up with it all. As he stepped inside the subway car, he silently wondered to himself if this was all his life would ever be. The same rat race, day in and day out. The same people, the same city, the same life as millions before him._

_He settled into his seat, scanning the people around him in search of the only constant he'd known outside of his demanding work; a young woman who frequented his same route. She always sat on the far end of the subway car, reading the same book. Vincent often wondered how many times she must have read it through, or why she bothered to constantly re-experience the same story countless times over. It was such a small quirk, but it was enough to get his a_ _ttention. Each morning he considered asking her about it, but he never found the nerve._

_~_

The story went on to describe a typical day in Vincent's life, and I felt a lot of sympathy for him as a character. He was just another cog in the grand machine, and Elliott's description of his mind-numbing job reminded me of the one I had before coming to Pelican Town. As Elliott continued to read aloud for everyone, I noticed him settling into himself. It put me at ease to see that he was slowly overcoming his stage fright. I knew a little encouragement was all he really needed, and I was proud of him for not giving in when he very well could have. 

The more of the story I heard, the more I longed to have even an ounce of his creativity. Not only was he passionate about his writing, but he also had a real talent for it. I was delighted to be among the first people to experience his work. 

~

_Vincent rushed through the station, glancing down at his watch as he dipped between anyone who stood in his way. He cursed himself for being so foolish. He had forgotten to put his phone on the charger the night before, and thanks to his depleted battery, his morning alarm never rang. Now he was running late, with only a fool's hope of making it onto the subway in time. He hadn't even managed to properly seal his briefcase after shoving in as many potentially necessary files as he could, having no time to double check._

_He checked his watch again as he neared the exchange platform; he only had seconds left. He picked up his pace to close the last 20 feet, but the doors were already beginning to slide shut. In his haste, he hadn't noticed the familiar woman who was running for the same doors as him. The two collided with an audible crash, sending books and papers fluttering to the ground._

~

Elliott paused for a moment as the chapter came to a finish, allowing everyone a moment to snap back into reality. 

"Well, that's the first chapter," he concluded. "I hope you enjoyed it. I have copies available for anyone who would like to purchase them." 

Most of the crowd quickly dispersed after the reading, but a handful of people hung around to pick up their copy of the book and congratulate Elliott. I hung back from the group for a while, trying to pass the time until it was my turn to talk to him again. The line moved fairly quickly though, and soon enough only Gunther, Elliott, Leah, and myself remained. 

"I am so proud of you," I told him, pulling him in for a brief hug. 

"What did you think of the story so far?" he asked.

"It's wonderful, Elliott. I can't wait to read more," I confessed. 

"Well, in that case, let's get you a copy," he said cheerfully. He pulled a book from the top of the stack and passed it to me. 

"Would you mind signing it for me actually?" I asked timidly. It felt a little strange asking for what was essentially my friend's autograph. 

"Absolutely," he reached for a pen and quickly scrawled out a message on the end-paper. "Let me know when you finish it, I expect a full review." He gave a warm smile as he handed the book back to me. 

"Of course," I replied. "Do you need help cleaning up or anything?" 

"I think we can manage," Gunther called from behind the checkout counter. I nodded in response.

"Well, in that case, I should probably be heading home," I said, turning back to Elliott. "Congratulations, really. I couldn't be happier for you." 

"Thank you," he replied. His eyes settled on mine for a moment, causing my heart to race. As I felt the heat rising in my chest, I turned away. I didn't want to leave so soon, but I knew I'd risk giving myself away if I didn't. 

"I'll see you around," I called awkwardly over my shoulder as I briskly headed for the door.

~

When I returned home, I peeled off my outer layers of clothing as quickly as I could manage, desperate to settle on the sofa and curl up with my new book. I flipped open the cover, taking a moment to appreciate the intricate script of Elliott's signature before searching for the second chapter. It didn't take long for me to become immersed, and I soon lost track of time as the outside world faded away.

The story follows Vincent as he gets to know Clara, the young woman who he often sees on his way in to work. After running into each other, they pick up the scattered papers and begin to sort through them to figure out which ones belong to whom. Clara notices several of Vincent's drawings mixed in with his paperwork and compliments him. They get to chatting as they wait for the next train. 

A few chapters in, we learn that Clara's work/life balance is similar to Vincent's. They're both working very hard at jobs they don't like, and neither of them really have time to themselves. They begin to look forward to seeing each other each day as it's the only real social interaction they have. Eventually they find ways of making time to spend together, and they go out and explore the city, finding places they never knew existed among the towering office buildings and concrete streets. They enjoy the time they spend together, but their jobs keep getting in the way. 

Throughout the story, I noticed several small references; a duck feather at the park, an old pomegranate tree at a community garden, a familiar song playing in the background at a pub. Part of me wanted to believe that Elliott had hidden these easter eggs in the text specifically for me to find. The more rational part of me knew it was more likely that he included them simply because they were things he liked, but it wasn't enough to stop my mind from running wild with the theory. 

In a very dramatic climax, Clara gets fired from her job, and she's frustrated at how much time she wasted there in the vain hope that she would one day work her way up the corporate ladder. Vincent is, of course, the first person she goes to when she gets the news. He tries to encourage her to use this opportunity to make a change in her life and do what she wants to do, rather than what she feels she has to do. But Clara knows that it's not a realistic option, at least not in the city. 

Near the end of the story, Vincent confesses his feelings for Clara and proposes that they run away together, to live somewhere in the quiet countryside, where they'll be free to live on their own terms. Sure it was sappy, but I ate it right up. I practically swooned on the sofa as I read the last pages of Vincent and Clara's love story. What made it even better was knowing that this entire world I'd engrossed myself in for the last few hours was entirely of Elliott's making. It wasn't hard to see that he was a romantic, but to experience it in his preferred medium was something else entirely. 

I closed the book, glancing up at the clock and realizing just how much time had passed. I hadn't expected to read the whole thing in one go, but I couldn't help myself. I stood up from the sofa and stretched before heading upstairs for the night. My mind circled around the little references Elliott had sprinkled into the story, particularly the pub scene, which reminded me of our night at the Stardrop Saloon. I hadn't wanted to admit it, but part of me hoped that this was some sort of proof that it meant as much to him as it did to me. Just the thought made my heart race. It was well past my usual bedtime, but as I lay there in the dark, I found it hard to fall asleep.


	9. Tom Kha Soup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has to do with brief illness (just a cold). Given the state of things right now, I figured it'd be appropriate to give a warning in case anyone would rather avoid this topic. If you'd rather not engage with this chapter, feel free to skip it and I'll catch you at the next one. Cheers.
> 
> [Also I somehow managed to forget to publish this one and didn't realize until posting the following chapter so it may appear out of order for a moment while I get that sorted out.]

Shortly after the night of Elliott's reading, a flu began to spread between the people of Pelican Town. Harvey did his best to keep people informed and encourage health-preserving habits, but there was really only so much he could do. Unfortunately, though he had tried to heed Harvey's advice, Elliott was also among those who had fallen ill. When his symptoms appeared, he shut himself in, and I had scarcely heard from him since.

He wasn't particularly fond of modern technology, which was just fine in Pelican Town. Most people got by without it, and those of us who did like to partake had to endure a frustratingly slow internet speed. While we both preferred speaking in person, or the occasional hand-written note, we made do with our phones for the time being. Though I had to admit, the mental image of someone so outwardly anachronistic as Elliott using a smart phone was certainly amusing. 

But the sparing texts just weren't quite enough, and I found myself missing his company. The snow was fairly deep outside now, and I couldn't bring myself to kill time with excessive trips into town. I had re-read just about every book I owned and knit until my fingertips were sore. Anything to keep my mind busy.

Eventually though, I ran out of things to do and my will to keep my distance was fading. I had thought I was doing a good job of holding strong, until I suddenly regained consciousness and found myself in my kitchen, hovering over a pot of chicken soup as it simmered. It wasn't my fault, or at least that's what I told myself. I had simply made _too much_ , and what kind of person would I be if I didn't share the excess with my terribly ill friend? After taking the necessary precautions, I tapped out a quick message on my phone and made for the front door, soup thermos in hand. So much for avoiding the snow. 

When I arrived on at the beach, I was thankful that the shoreline had washed away at least some of the otherwise thick layer of snow, and it was easier to trudge through. After giving a brief knock, I reached for the door handle and pushed it open. Elliott laid on his bed in the far corner of the room, looking more disheveled than I'd ever seen him. 

"Hello, ____," his usually rich voice came out in a low scratch. 

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"A little better, actually," he replied, sitting up a bit. "The fever finally broke."

"That's good, at least," I said. "I've brought you some soup. It's chicken noodle, so it should help with that sore throat of yours."

"You're too kind," he croaked. 

"Would you like to have some now, or should I put it away for you?" I asked. He sat up completely, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

"I'm starving actually," he admitted. "I haven't had much of an appetite for the last few days. I'll get us some bowls." 

"No, no," I insisted. "I'll get them, you just stay there, alright?" 

"You're the boss," he shrugged. I rolled my eyes in an effort to fight the smile tugging at my cheeks as I entered the walk-in closet beside his bed. As I poured the soup into the bowl, I realized it would probably be best if I didn't stay for a meal. I had already risked exposure just being there, and I didn't want to push my luck any further. I emerged from the closet, carefully passing the bowl to Elliott. 

"You didn't serve yourself?" he asked.

"I brought it for you," I excused. "I've got some back at home. Besides, I probably shouldn't stay long." He nodded. 

"Well, I appreciate it," he said, scooping a spoonful out of the bowl. "Both the soup and the company, no matter how brief."

"No problem," I replied as I made my way back to the front door. "Let me know when you're no longer contagious." 

"Absolutely." 

~

A few days had passed since my excursion to Elliott's, and my regret was beginning to set in as an itch began to take hold in the back of my throat. Though I couldn't be too upset about it, I only had myself to blame, really. And while the whole thing was certainly inconvenient, if not downright foolish, I couldn't bring myself to fully regret helping someone I cared for. 

Every muscle in my body ached as I took each step down the staircase, and I knew it would only get worse from there. Sighing, I began to set up shop in the living room. If I had to ride out a cold for the next few days, I wasn't about to make myself climb those stairs while I did it. I prepared the pull-out bed, my joints creaking as I stretched the sheets across the flimsy mattress. Even though it was the catalyst for the predicament I found myself in, I was thankful to have the leftover chicken soup in my fridge. I served myself, setting the bowl on an end-table beside the sofa as I collapsed into bed.

I spent the next two days in a feverish haze, sleeping whenever I was able to and occasionally braving the chill beyond my layers of throw blankets to add some wood to the fire, or for a trip to the bathroom. As I made my way back to the sofa, I scanned my foggy memory, trying to determine the last time I had eaten. I couldn't place it, but I did remember Elliott saying the cold had affected his appetite. That explained it, then. I laid back down, telling myself I'd eat whenever I woke back up. I had almost completely dozed off when I felt my phone vibrate. 

I pressed the power button, almost blinding my light-sensitive eyes as the screen flashed to life. I typed in my pin, noticing a slew of missed notifications, the most recent being a message from Elliott. 

_E: Finally feeling like myself again._

I made a quick reply, eager to slip back to sleep and spend the majority of my sickness unconscious. 

__: Glad to hear, unfortunately I can't say the same._

I set my phone back down, but his response came seconds later. I sighed, turning my screen on once again.

_E: Don't tell me you've caught it too._

__: Okay, I won't_

_E: But have you?_

__: I thought you didn't want me to tell you_

_E: ____, be reasonable. Are you ill or not?_

__: I regret to inform you that I am in fact ill._

_E: Oh dear, this is my fault_

__: Don't be silly, Elliott. I invited myself over_

_E: I still passed it onto you_

__: It's fine_

_E: Well, seeing that I've built up some antibodies, would you like some company?_

I sat up in bed, debating for a moment before I replied. Truth be told, it would take a lot for me to pass up an opportunity to spend time with Elliott. But I also worried that I wasn't be in the best shape to hang out. He'd probably be bored out of his mind after an hour, or worse, I might fall asleep again and leave him puttering about the farmhouse on his own. I forgot myself for a moment and let out a sigh, nearly triggering a coughing fit. 

__: If you wanted to, I wouldn't mind. But I'm probably not the best conversation partner at the moment._

_E: No need to worry about that. I'll be on my way soon._

~

As I predicted, I fell back asleep almost instantly. It came over me so swiftly, it felt as though hardly any time had passed at all. When I woke, my head ached, and the room seemed to spin. It was entirely dark outside, adding to my disorientation. I hadn't even heard Elliott knock, let alone come inside. I wouldn't have known he was there, if not for his coat, which now hung on the stand by the front door. 

"Elliott?" I tried to call out, realizing that my voice was almost entirely gone.

"Oh, you're awake," he said cheerfully, his own voice had returned to its usual, even-toned state.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Not long. I didn't want to wake you; I know you need your rest." He emerged from the kitchen, carrying one of the dining chairs. Placing it beside the pull-out bed, he took a seat. I noticed him holding a paper bag and looked at him with a questioning expression.

"I figured I should bring a few supplies," he explained. 

"Supplies for what?" I asked. He reached into the bag and began to unpack its contents; tissues, throat lozenges, and a fever reducer. 

"I stopped by Harvey's for the best remedies he could offer," he said. 

"You didn't have to do all of that," I croaked. 

"Nonsense," he dismissed. "You always take such good care of me, it's about time I returned the favor. How are you feeling?"

"Like death, being honest," I replied. He peeled the cardboard strip off the top of the tissue box and set it near the corner of the mattress, where I could easily reach it. 

"When was the last time you checked your temperature?" 

"I haven't," I answered sheepishly. His eyes widened. 

"____, you have to check your temperature, it's very important that you don't overheat," he lectured. 

"I'm not going to overheat," I replied. He leaned forward and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. 

"Good lord," he exclaimed. "You're absolutely burning. We need to remove these blankets."

"Don't you dare," I said, yanking the top edge closer. 

"Come on now, I can't have you making things worse for yourself," he said. "Why don't we compromise? I'll get you a sheet to cover up with until the chills lessen." 

"Fine, fine," I said. "Upstairs, at the end of the hall, there's a linen cabinet." 

~

The thin sheet did very little to chase off the deep cold that seemed to coat my body, cutting straight through to my bones. I couldn't help but shiver as I laid in bed, and I wanted nothing more than to rewrap myself in my cocoon of blankets, but I knew Elliott wouldn't allow it. At least not until my fever came down, which would hopefully happen soon. 

"When was the last time you had something to drink?" Elliott asked from the kitchen. 

"I couldn't tell you," I admitted. 

"I'll get you some water" In a temporary moment of clarity, I thought about how strangely normal it felt to have Elliott in my home, like he was always meant to be there. He seemed fully at ease as he swept around the kitchen, retrieving two drinking glasses from the overhead cabinet. It felt nice to know that my dearest friend was able to make himself at home in mine. I rose from the bed, clutching the sheet tighter to myself as I made for the kitchen table. 

As I sat, I noticed a pot on the stove, the flame beneath it turned low. With my nose as blocked as it was, I hadn't detected any smell it might have been emitting. 

"What are you making?" I asked.

"Tom Kha soup," he answered. "I assumed you would be tired of chicken noodle by now." 

"I don't think I've had that before." 

"It's made with coconut milk and a few Thai staple ingredients; ginger, lemongrass, mushrooms, and usually chicken, but I personally like to trade that for shrimp instead," he explained, placing the glasses on the table before returning to the living room to bring back the dining chair.

"That sounds wonderful," I said. "I just hope this cold hasn't altered my taste too much for me to enjoy it." 

"Well, I'm sure there will be quite a bit left over anyway, you could always save some for when you're feeling better," he said. I looked down at my glass of water. I hadn't noticed until then how thirsty I was, but the thought of the cool water running down my throat and pooling in my stomach was enough to make me hesitate. I reluctantly lifted the glass to my lips, swishing the water around my mouth to give it a chance to warm before swallowing. It soothed my throat a little as it went down. My empty stomach growled at the meager offering.

"Hungry?" Elliott asked, nearing the stove to check on the soup. I was a little embarrassed that he had heard. 

"Apparently," I joked, trying to brush it off. 

"It's almost ready," he lifted the lid and gently stirred, scooping a spoonful out of the pot for a quick taste. "Perfect." He returned to the cupboard, pulling out a pair of bowls and serving them. I watched as he placed a steaming bowl on the table in front of me, and it was only by sheer will that I didn't gulp its entire contents down in an effort to ward off the chill that still claimed my body. The chair creaked across the floor as Elliott scooted himself in under the table. I took a bite and was disappointed to find that my ability to taste was nearly completely washed out. I sighed.

"Do you not like it?" he asked.

"I can't really tell at the moment," I answered honestly. "I'm sure it's delicious." 

"I certainly try to make it so," he chuckled. We didn't talk much more as we ate, only the sounds of the crackling fire and our spoons scraping the edge of our bowls broke through the silence that washed over us. While I enjoyed his company, my aching throat left me with no desire to keep talking. The warm soup did help to ease the pain, even if only marginally, and for a moment my chill had ceased. By the time I had finished, my body temperature had leveled out quite a bit. 

~

Unfortunately, the moment of normalcy was short lived. The striking chills were soon replaced by an unbearable heat. I longed to crawl back into bed and sleep my way through this part of the cold the same way I had through the rest of it, but I was far too uncomfortable. All I could do was lay there, panting and trying to ride it out. Elliott paced around helplessly, stopping to feel my forehead every so often. There wasn't much else he could do for me, and I could tell he was becoming restless. 

"It's getting late," I told him. "You should probably get home soon." 

"I wouldn't feel right leaving you here by yourself, especially during the worst of it," he said.

"Really, I'd understand if you wanted to leave," I urged. "I'm sure it's not all that entertaining to watch me fight off a fever." 

"I don't care about _that_ ," he said, sounding a little offended. "I just want to make sure you're alright, even if it takes until dawn." I didn't want to burden him, but I was too drained to argue the matter any further. If he wanted to stay, I'd allow it. After turning about the living room a few times more, he eventually came to sit beside me on the bed. 

My muscles ached almost as much as they had after my first day working on the farm. I was caught in a strange temperature purgatory, both dripping with sweat and shivering cold at the same time. My cheeks burned, while my lower back was on the verge of goosebumps. I curled into myself on the bed, waiting for relief that seemed to be taking its own sweet time. 

"How long did this last for you?" I croaked out between whimpers. 

"I'm not sure exactly," he admitted. "It felt like hours, but it could have only lasted a few minutes for all I know." 

"What if I threw myself into a pile of snow?" I asked, only half joking. 

"I can see how that might be tempting, but ultimately, I wouldn't recommend it," he chuckled. I scooted closer to him, resting my head against his side. Looking up at him, I noticed the dark circles forming beneath his eyes. 

"If you feel tired, you could always lie down upstairs," I suggested.

"I'd rather keep an eye on you, if you don't mind," he said. I shivered and drew my knees up to my chest. Elliott stroked my hair, pulling the sweat-sticky strands out of my face and tucking them gently behind my ear. I felt terrible, but it was nice to have him there at least. Relief came on suddenly as my temperature finally began to regulate; it was as if I could feel every degree of its descent. 

"You're not entirely out of the woods, but I think the worst of it is over now," Elliott murmured. 

"Thank goodness," I whispered. 

~

I woke up feeling stiff and sore. The sun had barely begun to rise, tinting the sky outside a deep turquoise color. A chill hung in the air, and a wave of dread washed over me as I worried that my fever had returned for a second round. I looked toward the wood-burning stove, surprised to see only a faint ember burning atop a pile of ash. So it really was over. I sighed, pulling myself up to re-light it. It was only when I moved that I realized I had fallen asleep next to Elliott on the pull-out bed. 

He remained asleep, leaning against the armrest and propping his head up in his hand. I tried my best not to wake him as I slowly crawled out of bed, to no avail. His eyes slitted open, and he was visibly disoriented for a moment. 

"Sorry," I said murmured. "Just go back to sleep." He sat up, ignoring my suggestion. 

"What time is it?" he asked, his last words trailing into a yawn. 

"Much too early." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed as I tended to the fire. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fever's gone at least," I said. "My throat is still shot though." 

"I'll make you some tea," he offered.

"You don't have to do that," I protested.

"Oh, come now," he said, already on his way to the kitchen. 

He was certainly stubborn when he wanted to be, but then maybe so was I. Nevertheless, part of me was deeply pleased that he hadn't taken any of the outs I'd given him. Not that it was a test, but I found it incredibly sweet that he was so insistent on being there for me. I took a moment to freshen up in the bathroom, scrubbing the thick layer of cough drop buildup from my tongue and running a comb through my sleep-mussed hair. After spending the last couple days in bed, it felt good to have even part of my daily routine back in place. 

As I passed through the living room on my way to the kitchen table, the kettle began to whistle. Elliott promptly removed it from its place on the stove and prepared our mugs. I gazed out the window, watching the sky slowly change color as the sun made its long ascent over the horizon.

I looked away when I heard my cup of tea clink lightly against the table as Elliott sat it in front of me. Steam rolled off the top, and I took a deep breath of it in, elated to find that my sense of smell had somewhat returned. I got a little carried away though, and after one too many sharp inhales, the tickle in the back of my throat returned, throwing me into a coughing fit. Elliott rushed to my side. 

"Alright, easy now," he said softly, patting my back as I caught my breath. I took a sip of my tea. 

"I can't wait for this to be over," I sighed. 

"It will be soon," he encouraged. "Would you like some breakfast?" 

"I would, actually. Thank you," I replied. He set to work, rummaging through various cupboards until he found a pan and the necessary utensils. I watched as he popped open the refrigerator door, emerging with an array of ingredients tucked into his arms. I was surprised he could carry them all in one trip. I turned my attention back out the window, suddenly remembering my animals. My stomach sank as I realized I hadn't been out to check on them in days. That's the trouble with working solo on a farm. 

"My poor animals," I sighed. "They must be wondering what happened to me." 

"I'm sure they're alright," he said. "Though, I could go check in on them for you." 

"Oh, thank you. Really, I don't know how I'll ever repay you." 

"That won't be necessary," he smiled lightly. "Anything to help a friend." 

A few moments later, he brought our plates to the kitchen table. My stomach gave a soft growl as I looked over the contents, trying to decide where to start. Finally, I settled on the omelet, slicing off a sliver of the corner with my fork. It felt good to eat solid food. Elliott took a sip of his tea.

"So," he began, setting his mug back down. "I've been eagerly awaiting your thoughts on my novel. Have you finished it yet?" My eyes widened at the subject.

"Oh," I said, trying to buy myself some time to adjust. "Not yet, I'm afraid." 

"How far in have you gotten?" 

"Just a few chapters, I think," I lied. 

"Are you enjoying it so far?" he asked.

"Absolutely, you're an excellent writer," I said, and he beamed at the compliment. 

"Sorry for the slew of questions, I really don't mean to pester," he said. "I just value your opinion." 

"That's alright, I'd probably do the same if I managed to write and publish an entire novel." 

The conversation lulled, and I felt somewhat guilty for lying to him. I hadn't had time to decide how to approach that conversation when it came, and I had been so caught off guard that my mouth seemed to make the decision for me while my brain struggled to keep up. By the time I had finished eating, my eyes were heavy, and I just wanted to lay back down. I sprawled out across the pull-out bed, thankful that it was finally safe for me to cover up. The sound of the front door creaking as Elliott stepped out into the cold was the last thing I remembered before drifting off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder that this is just a fic, it's not meant to reflect my attitude toward the current pandemic. I use fanfic as an escape, and I don't usually bring up current events for that reason, but I didn't want to be misconstrued here. Obviously I don't want to encourage people to go out and spend time with someone they know is ill and potentially put themselves and others at risk. I just wanted to write a little fluffy comfort chapter


	10. Serenade

I sat hunched over my desk; papers splayed over every inch of the available space. Seemingly endless sticky notes filled with scrawled lists and fragmented reminders clung to every surface. I had been like this for days now, trying to plan for the upcoming season. There was so much to keep track of; my somewhat limited budget, – I had underestimated how much I needed to get through winter – the various crops I could grow, how much profit I'd make for each of them, how that would affect my summer planning. 

I had run the numbers countless times, but there were too many variables. I was sure that coming up with an adequate system was something which would come easily with time and experience, but it was only my first spring on the farm, after all. This season would set up the rest of my productive year, and the pressure was immense. 

I sighed, dropping my pen with an audible clack as it hit the wooden surface. I cradled my head in my hands, letting out a low groan. My mind seemed to be running at a million miles an hour, though I blamed my scattered state on the laborious planning. It was a good excuse, but I knew the truth, and I couldn't lie to myself anymore. 

My gaze drifted across my desk, toward the small, hard-bound book sitting in the far corner: Elliott's novel. I picked it up, flipping to the page where I had tucked my bookmark. Always the sentimental type, I kept it fixed in place at the pub scene. I had re-read it dozens of times by that point. Defeated, I settled in for yet another turn. 

As I read, I caught myself once again imagining Elliott and I taking the places of Clara and Vincent. In Elliott's embellished retelling, they lingered after the first song had ended and transitioned into a sappy slowdance for the second. I admired the way he set the scene, expertly describing the spark they both felt as their eyes met and they began to realize their feelings for each other. I began to envision Elliott looking at me that way; it was a small indulgence I hadn't previously allowed myself. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, and I slammed the cover shut, wincing with instant regret for handling it so roughly. It wasn't the book's fault. 

I reflected on my last few days holed up in the farmhouse, crunching numbers and deciding on crop rotations. Sure, it needed to be done, but truth be told I was desperately trying to distract myself from thinking about Elliott in that way. If I couldn't deny my feelings, I would shove them to the side to be delt with later. Only that scheme hadn't worked out as well as I had hoped. It remained there in the back of my mind, piping up at random intervals just when I thought I was through the worst of it. 

It was almost like going through the stages of grief, albeit in a more chaotic way. It began with bargaining, as I tried to talk myself out of it. It's just a little crush, it'll pass on its own given enough time. Though as I retraced the events which had brought me to that point, I knew that wasn't the case. It had been building up ever since the first time I set foot in his cabin. At least on my end, it was there in every interaction, just beneath the surface. 

Of course, I had no real way of knowing if the feeling was mutual. I could entertain the idea that he really had been leaving hints, but I knew it was a dangerous game. It just as easily could have all been explained away. He was just being nice; any romantic intention was of my own skewed interpretation. 

And what if I truly had been reading too far into things? Would I be able to accept that he never would feel that way about me? Or would it take a drastic toll on things and ultimately lead to us growing apart? I could hardly bare the thought, though I found it slightly difficult to imagine that someone like Elliott would be interested in me, of all people, anyway. 

I knew that it was all pointless speculation; the only real way to find out one way or the other would be to discuss it with him. But of course, that would require my confession, and the odds didn't seem to favor me too much. I wondered if I'd ever find the courage to tell him, or if I'd live with the fear of his response until it didn't matter anymore or my chance was gone, whichever came first. It made me sad to think that it might come down to that, if I let fear rule my decision. 

I had spent too many days coming to terms with it all, and I knew I was getting in a little too far over my head. I had let my mind spin out, allowing for all of this worry and anguish when I wasn't even sure of how he felt. Everything seemed to rest on the one question I was far too afraid to ask. 

But what if there was some way I could ask him, which wouldn't reveal me? Of course, the answer had been there all along. I still hadn't given Elliott my review of his novel, and wasn't that the catalyst for this whole internal conflict anyway? I had ruminated on it long enough, and I knew I would have to face it eventually. Sighing, I stood from my desk chair and made for the beach.

~

During my walk over, I felt a little silly. I had invited myself to his home without even so much as a courtesy call. I lingered at the beach entrance, trying to regain my courage, which had faded considerably as I made my commute. I weighed my options. I could turn back for home, where I would, in all likelihood, sit and sulk over my own cowardice for days. Or, I could stop in for a quick visit and get some much needed answers, which would hopefully take some of the pressure off. Had I really come all that way for nothing?

As I approached Elliott's door, I almost all of my unease vanished as I was distracted by the faint sound of his piano echoing through the thin walls. I had never heard him play before, and I was taken aback. The song he played was soft and delicate, the sound of it filled me with a profound sense of longing, for what I couldn't place. I let myself inside and quietly shut the door behind me. Elliott half-turned to look at me over his shoulder, looking somewhat startled by my entrance. The music suddenly ceased.

"Sorry to barge in," I said, feeling a little self-conscious. I hadn't intended to make him uncomfortable by any means.

"It's not a problem," he shook his head. "You're welcome here anytime."

"I heard you playing," I gestured to the piano. "You're a wonderful musician." He swallowed hard and shifted his gaze down.

"Thank you," he said softly, still not meeting my eyes.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. He straightened up in his seat.

"No, not at all," he replied. "I was just rehearsing a song I wrote." I nodded slowly, not quite satisfied with his answer.

"I should leave you to it, then. I just wanted to stop by," I said.

"No, no. Why don't you come have a seat?" he suggested. "I wanted to show you something." Hesitantly, I made for the small bench. This wasn't at all what I had anticipated during my visit, but I did as he asked. Elliott scooted to one side, making room for me. My shoulder brushed his as I sat beside him. I looked to him, waiting. He placed his hands on the keys before us and resumed playing. I watched in amazement as he expertly pressed at the keys, producing the same melody I heard as I made my entrance.

I briefly thought back to the first time I had come to the cabin, and I had noticed the piano and wondered when I'd get the chance to hear Elliot play it. It felt like such a long time ago, and so much had happened since. I began to question when exactly my view of him had shifted, and what it was that caused the change.

As the song ran its course, I realized that the real emotion it evoked in me was a longing for the freedom to stop hiding. I silently considered how much longer I could go without making my feelings known, or if the fear that Elliott might not return them would always outweigh the chance that he might. Before I knew it, the music stopped, and I was pulled back out of my thoughts.

"I had planned for that song to be a surprise gift to you," Elliott mumbled. My stomach fluttered.

"You wrote that... for me?" I asked. He nodded. I turned to look at him, and I noticed that his skin was tinted red. I tried to find the words to thank him, but I was overwhelmed with emotion. His flustered demeanor suddenly made sense. He must have been nervous to play the song for me, and my unexpected visit left him no time to prepare.

"I guess I sort of ruined the surprise," I said sheepishly.

"That's alright," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Did you like it?"

"Of course," I blurted. "Elliott, it was beautiful. I honestly can't believe something like that was written for _me_." He turned to look at me, and I froze at the sudden eye contact.

"Why not?" he asked. I paused, biting my lip as I tried to carefully chose my words.

"I just never thought of myself as the type of person people write songs about," I admitted, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "I'm not that interesting." He raised an eyebrow.

"I'll have you know, you've given me a great deal of inspiration, and not just in this one instance," he said. My heart lept. It wasn't quite a confirmation, but it was a good sign. 

"I did notice a few familiar details in your novel," I admitted. His eyes lit up.

"Have you finished it?" he asked excitedly. 

"I have," I answered, honestly this time. "I loved every word of it." 

"Thank you, ____. That means a great deal to me," he said, shifting his gaze. 

"You certainly seemed to put a lot of yourself into your characters," I said, trying to subtlely guide the conversation. 

"I try not to, it's a bit of a bad habit." he explained. "They say you should write what you know, and there's a delicate balance to it. I suppose Vincent and I are alike in many ways. But then, so are you and Clara." 

I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my composure. My excursion had panned out better than I could have hoped. It almost felt too good to be true. In my excitement, I almost wanted to confess to him right then and there, but I thought it best not to press my luck. I struggled for something to say, but as Elliott finally turned to look at me again, my mind went blank. 

"I suppose I didn't do a great job of concealing my influences," he said after a while, laughing lightly. 

"But you did a brilliant job of telling the story," I complimented. 

"Thank you," he said, his expression completely sincere. Our eyes lingered, and I reveled in the moment, silently praying it would never pass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo, first chapter back after my moving hiatus. I'm not 100% satisfied, but if I didn't get something out soon, I knew I'd risk losing motivation entirely so here we go. Lots of pining and denial in this one hooo boy. We're almost out of the woods though. 
> 
> Also, how many chapters did it take me to realize that I gave one of the characters in Elliott's novel the same name as an existing in-game character? Approximately two and a half. Am I going to go back and change it? Absolutely not. It is done. I hope nobody was confused. Oh god what if I unintentionally made you guys imagine an adult version of Vincent (Sam's brother, Vincent that is)? I bet that makes the whole experience way stranger than intended. Oof. 


	11. Flower Dance

Leah and I had said our goodbyes a handful of times, though neither of us were quite ready to end our conversations. We continued even as Leah opened the front door to head home. The smell of fresh bread which we had spent the afternoon baking wafted out behind us as we slowly drifted down the front steps. 

As I listened to the tail end of a story Leah was telling, I opened my mailbox and retrieved the small stack of letters which waited for me inside. Flipping through the envelopes, I noticed the typical correspondence I had come to expect. Near the bottom of the pile was an announcement from Lewis; a reminder of the upcoming flower festival. Leah peaked over my shoulder at the note. 

"Ah, the flower dance. Wait, that's only a few days from now," she said. "This season sure flew by fast." 

"I guess, unless it's a typo," I shrugged.

"Do you think you'll participate in the dance this year?" I took a moment to consider.

"Well, I'm not much of a dancer," I admitted. 

"I can teach you," Leah offered. "It's not that hard." She circled around to face me.

"You kind of just sway, like this," she demonstrated. "And your partner will walk toward you to the music." I mirrored her movements to the best of my ability. 

"Doesn't seem like much of a dance," I commented. Leah giggled.

"I agree, but at least it's simple, so you don't have to worry too much about getting it wrong. Sometimes people pair off and actually dance together afterward, but you don't have to," she explained. 

"I'll probably just sit this one out," I said. 

"Ah come on, it's not so bad. With the right person, it can be really fun," she encouraged.

"I don't even have a partner," I argued.

"There must be _someone_ you could ask," she said. Right. Someone. "What about Elliott?" I froze. Was it that obvious?

"There's no guarantee he'll say yes," I excused.

"Why wouldn't he? Aren't you guys really close?" she asked. I wanted nothing more than to change the subject, but I knew she wasn't likely to drop it. 

"I guess so," I said sheepishly. 

"So ask him," she urged. 

"It's not that simple," I shook my head. I was beginning to lose patience.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"I like him, okay? Like, _really_ like him. And asking him to dance with me would be the first big indication of that, and frankly I don't think I have the nerve," I vented. Leah went suddenly quiet, probably in a slight state of shock at my outburst. Truth be told, I was a little shaken as well. I had hardly admitted it to myself, let alone said it out loud. 

"I'm sorry for prying," Leah said softly, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "And I know it's really none of my business, but if all of that is true, I really think you should ask him. You might be surprised." 

"I wouldn't even know where to start," I confessed.

"Maybe write him a letter, there will be less pressure that way," she suggested. 

~

I had put it off until the last possible moment. I knew I was running out of time, but I was having a hard time composing my message. Even with the advantage of writing it all down, the right words never seemed to come. Several crumpled sheets of paper were beginning to accumulate around my desk, evidence of all of my previous attempts at an invitation. 

If this mode of communication was supposed to be less stressful, I shuddered to think of how much worse it would be if I had decided to ask him in person. After a couple hours spent bent over my desk, I had finally scraped together something half-decent.

_Elliott,_

_As I'm sure you know, the annual Flower Festival is coming up soon. It will be my first time attending, and I understand that a partner is required to participate in the dance. I would have asked you in person, but being completely honest, I am overcome with shyness. I'll understand if you decline, but if you'd like to be my partner for the dance, please meet me under the cherry tree at the south-western end of the clearing._

_Sincerely, _____

It felt terribly juvenile to resort to essentially passing notes to my crush, and I still wasn't completely satisfied, but I was running out of time, so it would have to do. After quickly sealing the note in an envelope and slipping into my boots, I was out the door and on my way to the beach. With any luck, I could make it there and back without losing my nerve. 

As I made my way through town, I found myself facing a new fear which I hadn't previously accounted for; what if he had already accepted a dance with someone else? A part of me had wondered why Leah hadn't asked him herself. She had known him longer than I had, after all, and she was a fellow creative. It would make sense for Elliott to be with someone like her, if she asked him, I could hardly see him turning her down. Or maybe he had his eye on someone else entirely, and he would be the one to do the asking. I knew well that no one in their right mind would refuse him. 

Still, I felt that my chances were fairly good, especially since he had previously confirmed my role in the creation of his novel. That had to mean something, right? But if that were the case, and the feeling was mutual, and he really had been leaving hints, I couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't been the one to make the first move. Perhaps he was just as unsure as I was. Or maybe I had misunderstood entirely. But I had finally found some peace, knowing that if I could just manage to get my letter to him, my questions would at long last be answered. 

I reached the beach entrance, mentally rehearsing my plan of action. As I crossed the bridge, I saw no sign of Elliott. The windows of his cabin were dark, and he was nowhere to be seen on the beach. All I had to do was tuck the letter into his mailbox and be on my way. It was simple enough, or it would have been, had I not heard the distant sound of Willy's shop door creaking open, and Elliott's rich voice following quickly behind. 

I hesitated, waiting to see if he would come around the corner. A few minutes passed as I tried to gauge how much time I'd have. I would have had plenty of time to slip the letter in place had I not expected to see him emerge from the docks at any given second. I had waited too long and the opportunity was lost. I probably could have given him the letter anyway, but I knew I would risk him opening it right then and there, and I wasn't at all prepared to face him with my proposal. 

Elliott leisurely made his way across the sand. A slight breeze passed through, catching a few locks of his hair and swirling them over his shoulder. I made quick work of trying to look busy combing for seashells. 

"Good afternoon," he said with a light smile and a wave as he continued to his cabin. 

"Hello," I returned, with my counterfeit casual tone. 

"How is my favorite farmer doing today?" he chuckled. My stomach fluttered, and I felt completely absurd. Of course I was his favorite farmer, I was the only farmer in town. Get _ahold_ of yourself. I cleared my throat.

"I'm doing well, how are you?" 

"I'm quite alright, thank you," he replied. He pushed his front door open and gave another wave as he disappeared behind it. Relief soon washed over me as I was left alone. I rose from my crouched position and dusted myself off. I must have looked ridiculous. 

I was slightly paranoid that he might notice me delivering the letter through the window, but I'd be damned if I wasn't going to finish what I'd started. With an exasperated sigh, I tugged open the small door. It was done. I walked back home, reprimanding myself for my behavior. None of this would have been an issue in the first place if I wasn't so much of a coward. But even if I had acted cowardly, I was at least making the steps to change that. 

~

As I rounded the corner to the festival entrance, I tugged nervously at my clothes. Leah had called me the night before to check in, and she was ecstatic when I told her I had managed to deliver my invitation to Elliott. She had given me a little advice on what to wear. Though I would certainly fit in well with the other dancers, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was an unnecessary call for attention to myself. Especially if my prospective partner chose to decline my offer. 

I scanned the field before me, searching for the designated meeting spot. It was void of any people, but the festival had only just begun. There was still time for him to arrive. I was filled with a strange mixture of hope and dread, but I did my best to swallow them down and made for the cherry tree. I was determined to go on with my plan, no matter the outcome. I had only taken a few steps when Pierre called out to me from his shop stall.

"Hey, ____," he greeted me with a warm smile. "Isn't this your first flower festival?" 

"It is," I nodded. 

"I'm glad you came. It's a bit of a strange tradition, but I still thing there's something kind of endearing to it. The flower dance is actually based on an ancient mating ritual."

"That's interesting," I said, glancing to the cherry tree. If Elliott had decided to meet me, the last thing I wanted to do was to keep him waiting.

"So, are you thinking of asking anyone?" 

"Maybe," I admitted, fidgeting with my hands. "I might just have to sit this one out." 

"Well good luck," he said. "And hey, if it doesn't work out, there's always next year. But if it does, I'm having a sale on bouquets this weekend." He winked. I gave a light laugh and rolled my eyes as I walked away. Always a perfect salesman, that Pierre. I refocused on the task at hand, but as I closed another few yards, I was stopped once again. 

"Good afternoon," Lewis said, tipping his hat. "I'm glad you could make it." 

"Hey, Lewis," I said.

"You look nice," he complimented. "Not a lot of the younger ones dress up for the occasion anymore. It's a real shame." 

"Leah gave me a few tips, so..." I trailed off. 

"It's good to know you're making friends. I'll admit I was a little worried you'd have a hard time adjusting when you first arrived," he said. I nodded, at a loss for what else to say. 

"Well, I'll let you go on and enjoy the festival," he said conclusively, and I immediately took my que to leave. I kept my eyes on the corner of the clearing as I kept walking, and I was almost there when I was stopped for a third time. 

"Hey, ____," Robin said, running over from the buffet tables. "Quick question." 

"What's up?" I asked, trying to mask my impatience. 

"Well, you see. I'm having a little trouble with that coop upgrade you commissioned. The back wall is a little weaker than I thought it would be, and I think it would be pointless to continue on with the addition if the rest of the coop is in such bad shape. I can patch things up while I'm at it, but it'll probably cost a little more and I'll need more material." 

"Of course," I said curtly. "Why don't we discuss this tomorrow, though? I know neither of us get too many days off." I hadn't intended for my tone to be so blunt, but my agitation was making it difficult to remain polite.

"Right, sorry," she said, laughing sheepishly. "I'm just so used to being busy, I don't always remember to turn my work brain off." 

"No worries," I replied. I gave a small wave as I went on my way, hoping I hadn't hurt her feelings. It wasn't her fault, after all. 

The area was still clear and quiet by the time I reached the cherry tree. I checked my watch; not much time had passed. I leaned against the trunk while I watched the other townspeople slowly trickle in. As I waited, I began to feel self-conscious. When Leah first suggested writing a letter, it seemed perfect. I thought it was just the type of thing Elliott would enjoy; it was more old-fashioned and formal. But standing under the cherry tree alone, feeling nervous and vulnerable, I began to see things in a different light. It was a silly idea, really. Childish. 

The longer I waited, the more defeated I felt. Before I knew it, most of the town was there in the clearing, and it seemed as though everyone but me was enjoying themselves. I knew the dance would be starting soon, and I didn't want to stand on the sidelines, especially in my festival costume. With a deep sigh, I turned to head home. I kept my head down as I walked briskly back to the entrance, eager to get back home before anyone noticed me leaving. I rounded the corner and bumped right into someone in my haste. 

"Sorry," I mumbled, not looking up. 

"____?" a familiar voice asked. My heart nearly skipped a beat. I looked up at him in disbelief. There he stood before me, looking almost as nervous as I was. He had dressed up for the occasion too. He wore a pale blue suit which complimented his skin tone and brought out his eyes. He was stunning. 

"I apologize for being so late," he said. "I wanted to look presentable, and I lost track of the time." 

"I thought you weren't coming," I said softly. 

"Nonsense," he said, almost scoffing. "I could never resist an invitation to dance with you." I felt my face go hot. 

"You look nice," I complimented, trying to shift the attention off of myself. 

"So do you," he replied, and I watched his eyes drift over me. My plan had certainly backfired. "Shall we?" he held his arm out to me, and I willingly took hold of it. Even through the layers of his clothing, I could feel the slight firmness of his lean muscles. 

We walked into the clearing that way, and I felt self-conscious once again, albeit for different reasons. I was now concerned about how we must look together. A tall, elegant man dressed to the nines in his posh blue suit, escorting a shy farmer trying their best. I gave a small smile at the thought, though I wished there would be fewer eyes on us. 

When we reached the center of the field, all of the other participating couples were taking their places for the dance, standing in two horizontal lines and facing each other. I stood next to Leah, who flashed me a bright smile, clearly pleased to see that everything had worked out. Lewis came to stand between the rows.

"Alright, it's about time we get started," he said, projecting his voice. "Let the flower dance begin!" 

Lewis backed away from the group of dancers, and the music started shortly after. It was a cheerful tune, though its age was clear. I wondered just how far the tradition went back, though I didn't have long to ponder it. I focused on my movements, slipping into rhythm and matching the other dancers on my side of the field. 

I looked across at Elliott, handsome as ever, and slowly making his way toward me in time with the music. It hit me then that this was really happening, that despite all of my doubts he was there, with me, for me. The odds were in my favor after all. And with everything else I knew to be true, that he was kind had gone out of his way to help me through difficult moments, that he had dedicated his very first novel to me because he'd said I inspired him; I felt like I could finally stop hiding. 

He inched closer, eventually coming to stand before me and bowing with a smile at the song's end. When the traditional dance was over, the usual music started again. It was a slower song, and Elliott held his hand out to me in invitation. I took it, my head spinning as he gently tugged me closer to him and snaked his free arm around my waist. 

"You're a beautiful dancer, you know," Elliott murmured, the vibration of his voice tickling my ear. I smiled, but I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze.

I had imagined this moment a handful of times before, but nothing could compare to the real thing. His relaxed, confident demeanor as he guided our dance, the way the delicious scent of his cologne wafted around with each movement, his smooth hair brushing against my cheek as I tucked my head against his shoulder. Being in such close proximity was almost intoxicating.

Once again, everything outside of our little nook seemed to melt away, leaving just us together. It was like the night at the saloon all over again, only infinitely better. Swaying in small circles over the grass, I felt like everything was right in the world. If time had stopped right then and there, I would have been completely content.

But of course, time did not stop. Before I knew it, the sun was beginning to set and most of the townspeople had gone home. We eventually slowed to a stop. 

"It's getting a bit late," Elliott said. "Would it be alright if I walked you home?" 

"Of course," I replied, happy to accept any time I'd be allowed to spend with him. He offered his arm and I took it once again while we made our way out of the clearing and into the forest. We didn't make much conversation while we walked. 

"Thank you for the dance," I finally said as we passed through the southern gate to my lot. "I had a lovely time."

"I did as well," he returned. We were nearing the front steps, and I knew that once I was alone in my house, I would be replaying the events of the day in my mind, possibly trying to find excuses. But for now, I was still riding the high of it all, and I wanted something more solid that my future self would not so easily pick apart.

"Sorry if I'm being too forward, but I just want to make sure we're on the same page here," I managed, hesitating for a second as I gathered my courage before continuing. "I asked you to be my dance partner because I really like you."

"I like you too," he said softly.

"Like, more than a friend," I specified. 

"Absolutely," he agreed. It took a moment for his words to set in. I was almost overcome with relief and disbelief. I wanted to pinch myself to make double sure it wasn't a dream. But as I looked into his eyes, sparkling with sincerity, the rest of my doubt finally fell away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaah we're finally closing in on the 'lovers' portion of this story thank yoba. Also can we take a second to appreciate Leah's top notch wingman skills? She definitely ships it. 


	12. Bouquet

Wiping my hands on the knees of my jeans, I pushed myself up from the ground to head inside for a break. It had been a busy morning on the farm, and I had spent every drop of water in my cannister. My mouth was noticably dry, and I could think of little else that would be quite as satisfying as a cool glass of iced tea. Eager to rehydrate, I went up the porch steps two at a time. I paused as I reached the top, noticing a yellow envelope propped up against my front door. I didn't need to examine the intricate, swirling monogram stamped into the wax seal to know it was from Elliott, but it was a nice touch anyway.

I felt my excitement swell as I opened it, careful not to disturb the wax. I took a moment to admire his stationary. Like many other things about Elliott, it had a timeless feel to it. A slight smile tugged at the corners of my lips. It was an invitation to the beach for lunch. I couldn't help but wonder what sort of recipe he'd select from his arsenal, but I was willing to try whatever was offered.

I checked my watch, realizing I had just over an hour to prepare. I wasn't about to show up to see him in my muddy cover-alls and work boots, though I knew he wasn't likely to mind. Now that I knew for sure we were on the same page, I was determined to make any occasion with Elliott a special one. But what to wear?

I scanned through my closet in search of something suitable, not quite satisfied with my options. Everything was either too casual or too dressy for the situation. I certainly didn't want to arrive in something unnecessarily extravagant, but I wanted to look nice for him, and I felt that the majority of my wardrobe was underwhelming. Sighing, I settled on an ensemble I'd worn a handful of times, making a mental note to ask Haley for some shop recommendations.

I knew that I was getting a little ahead of myself. We weren't officially dating, though it was easy to get my hopes up knowing that we seemed to be heading that direction. I remembered Pierre's comment at the flower dance: "And hey, if it doesn't work out, there's always next year. But if it does, I'm having a sale on bouquets this weekend." The cheeky bastard. It was a tempting offer though, and I found myself debating if I should take him up as I made for the path into town.

As I entered the town square, I decided it wouldn't hurt to at least take a look at Pierre's selection. I pulled open the door, cringing internally at the sound of the alert bell. I had already begun to feel as though everyone in the shop would notice my perusal of the flower arrangements; the chime announcing my entrance surely wasn't helping to ease my anxiety. I wandered the store for a while, pretending to browse.

When I eventually came to the bouquets, I noticed an empty space on the shelf. Pierre's sale must have been quite the bargain. Each arrangement was lovely, but I struggled to determine which Elliott would like best. My focus settled on a classic bundle of twelve red roses. Maybe it was cliche, but it seemed like the type of thing he'd appreciate. But then again, maybe it was too plain for his lavish tastes.

Standing in the aisle, I was beginning to lose courage, but I tried to push it down. It was on sale, after all. It would be foolish of me not to take advantage of the opportunity to both woo my suitor and save a little coin. Reluctantly, I reached for the bouquet and placed it in my market basket, turning toward the checkout desk.

I kept my head down as I waited in line, begging for the whole ordeal to be over so I could just get on with my day. Pierre rang me up, a knowing look on his face as he packed the bundle of flowers and placed it back onto the counter. I shifted my gaze around the room, avoiding his eyes.

"That'll be 85g," he said finally. I dug through my bag, finding only a 100g note. I heaved a sigh as I handed it to him.

"Keep the change," I said, sliding the flowers into my bag and out of sight. Bargain be damned.

I was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole thing. How did anyone ever know when the moment was right? What if I missed my opportunity? What if I was so preoccupied that I came across as distant or I forgot to just enjoy my time with him? I gulped as I crossed the bridge and neared the beach entrance.

Turning to head toward Elliott's cabin, I saw him standing near the shoreline, an old bed sheet spead out over the sand behind him.

"Hey," I called out. His face seemed to light up as he turned to face me.

“You look especially nice today,” he complimented. My eyes immediately dropped as I tried to hide just how flattered I truly was.

“Thanks,” I said almost under my breath. “You look nice too.” We stood there awkwardly for a second, the pause in conversation seemed to grow thicker with each passing second. 

"So, what's for lunch?" I finally asked, sinking down to sit cross-legged on an end of the sheet. Elliott quickly followed behind me. Reaching into the picnic basket, he pulled out two plates he had already prepared.

“Fish and chips,” he answered.

“Aw, Elliott,” I said in delighted surprise. “You actually cooked!” He gave me a playful jab with his elbow.

“I do have the ability, you know,” he smirked. “Willy had a sale on fish the other day that I simply couldn’t pass up. I hauled it all the way up to the community center to prepare it.”

“You really should invest in adding a kitchen into that cabin of yours,” I said, taking a bite. The fish itself was crisp, and the breading was perfectly seasoned. “I could get used to this.” His smile widened.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “There’s plenty, so help yourself to as much as you like.”

As we ate, I used the more casual silence that fell over us as an excuse to reevaluate the situation at hand. Elliott seemed as quietly confident as ever, though there was just a tinge of nervousness about him. It made me feel a little more at ease to know that he was at least in a similar state of mind. The setting seemed a little too laid-back for a grand gesture to be thrown into the middle of it, and we were already nearing the end of our meal together. I began to come to terms with the fact that I very well might have to face the walk back home knowing that I'd missed my shot. I just hoped for another chance to give my gift to Elliott before it wilted away. 

I finished the last few bites on my plate as Elliott began to pack away the leftovers. I took it as my que to head back to the farmhouse, where I could wallow in my foolish overeagerness in private. 

"Well thank you for the meal, Elliott," I said sheepishly. "It was delicious." 

“Well, before you go dashing back to that farm of yours, I have a little surprise,” he said, as if he'd read my mind. He rose from where he sat and held a hand out to me. I reached to take hold of it, and he helped me to my feet.

“What’s the surprise?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement as he led me back to the docks.

“I’m assuming you’ve noticed that old, wrecked boat sitting outside my cabin.”

“I guess so,” I replied. “I never gave it much thought.” We had reached the end of the pier, where a small rowboat was tied to a post. 

“Willy and I have been making some repairs here and there, and I think she’s finally ready,” he explained. “What do you say we take her out for a ride?”

“I’d love that.”

Elliott took my hand once again, helping me into the boat. It was a little rocky, and as he followed me in, I began to worry that it might tip under our weight, but once we were seated it actually felt quite stable. 

I watched as he rowed us further and further from the shoreline, each movement falling perfectly into his natural rhythm. Soon the docks seemed so far away, and they seemed to blend in with the other details of the horizon until I could barely tell them apart.

I was able to view an angle of Pelican Town I had never seen before. The mountains up by Robin’s house were cloaked in a light mist that was only noticeable from such a distance. The cliffs that marked the edge of the forest seemed even steeper than when I stood at their edge to see the water splashing against them below. The blue conical roof of the wizard’s tower stood out sharply from between the trees. If not for its location, I might have initially mistaken it for a lighthouse.

Elliott’s rowing came to a gentle stop, though the boat continued to rock as each passing wave bounded against its sides. As I continued to look out at the town, I became aware that Elliott’s gaze was fixed on me. I turned to meet his eyes, but he bashfully looked away as he realized he had been caught.

“It’s um,” he paused to clear his throat. “It’s a lovely view, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” I replied. “Did you come out here often? Before the boat wrecked, I mean.”

“Actually no,” he said. “It had been sitting outside my cabin long before I arrived. I’m not sure who it previously belonged to, but when I asked Willy about it, he said that if they hadn’t come back for it yet, they likely weren’t going to.”

“Well, you did a great job with the repair,” I said.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now that it’s back in working condition, I plan on spending a lot of time out here.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I nodded. “If I had a boat of my own, I’d probably do the same.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you wanted to join me on more of my little voyages,” he said sheepishly.

“Absolutely,” I agreed.

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind spending a lot more time with you in general,” he continued, keeping his eyes low. “So long as that’s what you want as well.”

“Any time I get to spend with you is always a treat,” I said, surprised at how open I was being.

“____,” he said, meeting my eyes for half a second before sighing and looking away again. “I suppose I should just be honest, though I’ll admit I'm quite nervous of how you'll react to what I have to say.”

"You can tell me anything, Elliott, you know that," I said. "Whenever you're ready, I'm all ears."

“I’m sure you know already, but when you first arrived here, I was desperately lonely. I spent most of my time shutting everything and just about everyone out, excusing it away, shoving the blame on my novel. Always my novel.”

"That's understandable," I said. "I know your work is very important to you."

"It was a fair excuse," he agreed. "But the truth is that working gave me a seemingly endless distraction. Of course, I had other motivations. I felt like I had something to prove. But then you came along and suddenly I didn't want the distraction anymore; my intentions had shifted. I wasn't writing to escape, I was retelling some of my fondest memories, memories I would never have made without you."

I sat in stunned silence, simultaneously digesting what he had said and waiting for him to continue.

"Listen to me, rambling on," he shook his head. "What I'm trying to say is, I feel very strongly about you, ____."

"So do I," I told him. I palmed at my bag, debating if the time was right to retrieve the bouquet I had been hiding. Before I could fully decide, Elliott turned, reaching for the boat's storage compartment and revealing a bouquet of his own.

"Then will you accept this?" he held it out to me. The arrangement he had chosen was gorgeous; an array of cream roses and white calla lilies with a few bright stalks of leaves tucked in various places.

"Of course," I said. "But I have one condition." He tilted his head, uncertain until I slid my hand into my bag and pulled out the much smaller bundle of flowers.

"You'll have to accept these," I beamed. His face lit up, and I was thrilled that with such a small gesture, I was able to produce such a bright expression from him. We traded bouquets, though Elliott almost immediately placed his aside in favor of bringing his hand to my face. His touch was featherlight as he stroked my cheek.

His eyes drifted over my face, eventually locking on mine. I fought the urge to shift my gaze; I was feeling flustered, but I knew this was a moment I needed to savor. He took a hesitant pause before gradually leaning in, and I immediately followed his lead. Within seconds, his lips were on mine and my eyes fluttered shut.

My head spun and my chest pounded. Every neuron in my body seemed to spark with life. I found myself reaching out to him, aching to be closer. My hands brushed his cheeks, pulling him to me and deepening the kiss. I could think of little else but the feeling of his skin and the silky texture of his hair as it brushed against me with every movement.

All too quickly, Elliott pulled back with a sigh, his warm breath ghosting across my face. I was admittedly a little disappointed at the seemingly sudden end. I supposed I'd have plenty of opportunity in the future to satisfy my new craving, and I had no objection to letting Elliott set the pace.

Though our lips had parted, we remained close, leaning in toward each other as if pulled by gravity. His eyes sparkled and I couldn't help but gaze into them. As the moment faded, and I fully came back to my senses, I realized I was trembling. Elliott's smitten expression quickly shifted to concern.

"Oh, ____. I didn't mean to- I should have asked- I'm so terribly sorry. Look at you, you're shaking," he sputtered.

"No, you're fine," I insisted. "I'm just so happy." I placed a hand on his forearm, partly to reassure him, and partly to maintain the physical contact. His eyes softened.

"As am I," he said.

I looked out over the water; as the boat continued to drift, Pelican Town was becoming an increasingly small spot on the horizon. I was thankful that Elliott had planned for our privacy. I admired his thoughtfulness and keen attention to detail, marvelling at how lucky I had been to find someone like him, and even moreso that he mirrored my affection.

"We should probably head back soon," he suggested. I nodded, though I wasn't quite ready for our outing to conclude, I did still have some chores to attend to back on the farm. He began to row, gently pulling us back to the shore.

"Just look at the valley from here," he said, once we were nearly to the dock. "It finally looks like home." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie this chapter was super dialogue heavy. This chapter took me forever to write (okay it didn't take that long to actually write it out, but I kept procrastinating because I wasn't sure how I wanted it to go lol) and I'm still not 100% happy with it but I'm glad I got it done. A lot has happened since my last update and I'm still coming to terms with everything and trying to push through but I can't promise any consistency with the updates at the moment. I'm sorry its taking me so long, I know it can be really annoying to get invested in a story that the author rarely updates, if ever. But I'll just keep trying my best and updating when I can.


	13. Rescue

“That’ll teach you,” I muttered, fending off the last of the slimes which had been following me through the mines for quite some time. I shuddered. It was a particularly rough fight, with four of them teaming up against me. Feeling tired and weak, I decided to turn in for the night. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t paid much attention to the time. I reached into my bag to dig out my phone. It was already 9:45.

After checking the time, I noticed I had a missed call from Elliott. To my surprise, I was getting fairly good reception near the entrance of the cave, and I decided to return his call.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Hey, it’s just me,” I said.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“I was just calling you back,” I explained. “I’ve been in the mines and the reception’s a little choppy, so I didn’t notice I had missed your call unti—”

I dropped my phone as I was suddenly struck by a slime I hadn’t noticed. I raised my sword to defend myself, but my strength was failing. The slime ran a quick circle around me, covering me in its green goop and impairing my ability to move quickly.

“____?” I heard Elliott’s muffled voice over the phone. “Are you okay?”

Before I could answer, the slime slammed into me again, knocking me to the ground.

~

I woke up feeling dizzy and disoriented in a familiar room. The bright fluorescent panel lights above me made my eyes water. I blinked back the tears as I began to come to my senses. I realized I was laying on a cot in Harvey’s office, but I couldn’t remember how I got there.

“Harvey?” I called, scooting up in bed to lean on my elbows. The sound of frantic footsteps carried through the small crack in the exam room door, but it was not the doctor who stepped through.

“Oh, thank Yoba you’re awake,” Elliott cried out. His hair was messier than I’d ever seen it, and he had bags under his eyes from the stress and lack of sleep.

“What happened?” I asked. He sat at the edge of the bed to face me.

“You went quiet so suddenly, I was worried that something awful happened. I rushed up to the caves to look for you, and when I saw your limp body, I…” he trailed off. Tears welled up in his eyes and my heart sank.

“I’m so sorry, Elliott. I didn’t mean to worry you,” I said, sitting up leaning in to hug him.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” he sighed, giving me a light squeeze. 

Harvey came into the room a moment later, looking just as tired as Elliott. It occurred to me that Elliott must have come rushing to Harvey’s door, waking him in the middle of the night.

“I’m really sorry to keep you up, Harvey,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, ____,” he shook his head. “You needed help, I’m the only doctor in town.”

“Well, what do you think, doc? Am I going to live?” I asked. Harvey chuckled lightly.

“I think you’ll be alright,” he replied. “I would advise you to stay out of the mines for a while though. Just take it easy for the next few days, and please, be more careful. It’s dangerous down there, especially when you’re alone.”

“Of course,” I agreed, feeling a little embarrassed about the whole affair.

“You should go home and get some rest,” he concluded. “Come see me tomorrow if you’re still not feeling well.”

“Thanks, Harvey,” I waved as he turned to leave.

“Are you feeling up to the walk home, or do I have to carry you again?” Elliott teased. The thought of him carrying me home made me want to swoon, but I knew he had already done more than enough for one night.

“I think I can manage,” I said, sliding off the cot to stand on my feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, but we can have a little heroic Elliott. As a treat.   
> (Not me writing a whole new scenario to procrastinate writing the next big plot point, nope.)


	14. Lobster

“I have some big news,” Elliott announced. It came seemingly out of nowhere as we neared the conclusion of an otherwise average afternoon walk.

“What’s that?” I asked, eager for him to go on.

“Well, my novel has been out for a while, and it has done surprisingly well. It recently caught the attention of a major publishing company, and they’ve offered to pick it up for a second printing,” he explained.

“How wonderful!”

“It is,” he said hesitantly.

“That doesn’t sound too convincing,” I teased.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“That’s understandable,” I told him, giving his hand a light squeeze. “But the fact that you’ve made it this far in the first place is a pretty good sign.”

“That’s true,” he nodded. We had reached my porch steps, and I knew he would soon be heading off to his cabin to be alone with his thoughts.

“Why don’t you come back tonight, and we’ll have dinner together to celebrate?” I offered. He shook his head.

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble, really.”

“Come on, Elliott,” I encouraged. “This is a big deal.”

“Well… If you insist,” he shrugged.

“I’ll get everything set up, you just go pick out something nice to wear,” I stepped in front of him, standing on my toes to give him a light kiss goodbye. “See you tonight.”

“Tonight,” he agreed.

~

The match I held made a satisfying fizzle as I scraped it against the striking strip. The table was set with the best linens I could rummage up, the plates and flatware arranged neatly on either end. All I had left to do was light the long tapered candle I had placed in the center. Glancing over the place settings, I noticed a slightly crooked fork, and I eagerly corrected its position. This would be the most formal meal Elliott and I would share together, and I was determined to do it right.

There was a knock at the door, and my stomach fluttered. I glanced at the clock; he had arrived a bit earlier than expected. I checked myself in the mirror by the door one last time. My outfit was new, purchased on a recent shopping trip with Haley. It wasn’t exactly what I would typically wear, but it was still nicer than most of the clothing already in my wardrobe. Taking a deep breath, I turned to answer the door.

“Hey, ____,” Gus greeted. I felt relieved and a little foolish at the same time. I had almost forgotten about the food, which was a shame, because it would be quite difficult to have a dinner date without it.

“Hey, thanks for coming all the way out here,” I said.

“It’s no problem,” he replied, passing me the takeout bag and the bottle of champagne I had requested. I stepped back inside to set them down and grab my wallet.

“So, what do I owe you?” I asked.

“That’ll be 640g.” I collected the money, adding a little extra for Gus’ long walk to the farmhouse.

“Thanks again,” I said, heading back inside.

“Have a good night,” Gus called.

As quickly as I could manage, I unpacked the takeout boxes. In the time I had known him, I learned that Elliott was virtually never opposed to seafood. Upon calling down to the Stardrop Saloon to place my order, Gus informed me that he had selected lobster as the special for tonight, and it was far too good of a deal to pass up. The smell of it began to fill the room, making my mouth water as I served everything out onto the plates.

I stood around for a moment, anxiously adjusting the place settings as I waited for Elliott’s arrival. Finally, I heard the second knock at the door, and I rushed to answer it. As the light from the living room seeped out into the night, I almost gasped at the sight of him. He was impeccably dressed in a plum colored suit, which was extravagant even by Elliott’s standards. I could hardly take my eyes off of him.

“You look amazing,” I complimented. He shifted his gaze, but the grin spreading on his face gave him away.

“You’re quite a lovely sight yourself,” he replied. “Shall we?” I took his hand and led him inside, toward the dining table.

“____, this looks incredible,” he said.

“I wish I could take credit for the food, but I had Gus prepare it,” I said.

He helped me into my seat before taking his own at the chair opposite mine. I reached for the champagne bottle and made quick work of removing the cork and filling our glasses.

“To your success,” I said, raising my glass.

“And yours as well,” he added. “In everything you do.”

“Cheers.”

After our toast, we turned our attention to the food before us. Gus really had done an exceptional job. The lobster was paired with mashed potatoes and sweet corn as side dishes, each expertly seasoned.

“So, are you excited?” I asked, raising my eyebrows for emphasis.

“Honestly, I’m still feeling more nervous than excited,” he admitted.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said. Neither of us spoke for a moment, and I began to worry that something about this was really bothering him. I thought back to earlier in the day, when he had first brought it up, and realized that I had been somewhat dismissive then too.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I offered, trying to make up for it. He sat quietly for a little while longer before finally speaking up.

“It’s just that my novel will soon reach a much wider audience than I ever thought possible. With that many new eyes on my work, I’m afraid of the criticism it might receive. People can be very harsh when they don’t like something, you know,” he explained.

I felt my stomach sink as I realized how inconsiderate I had been. There Elliott was, feeling legitimately concerned, and for very valid reasons. Meanwhile, I was only putting a spotlight on the whole situation without even realizing his worry.

“I know it can be hard to set aside your worries sometimes, I just wanted to try and help you forget about all of that for a while,” I explained. “I realize now that I might have overwhelmed you with all of this, and I’m sorry if I took things a little too far.”

“Don’t be,” he said, scooping his hang beneath mine and giving it a light squeeze. “You’ve gone out of your way to do all of this for me, and I am truly grateful.”

“I just want you to know that I really believe in everything you do. But I also know this is going to be a big change and there will be some new challenges that come along with it. No matter what comes next, I’m always here to support you, every step of the way.”

“I really appreciate that, ____,” he said. “Thank you.”

~

After clearing things up, Elliott seemed much more at ease. I couldn’t tell if it had more to do with my apology, or my promise to see him through everything, but it didn’t matter. I was only glad to see him finally loosen up and just be happy about his future. Throughout our meal, we had both overindulged in a few glasses of champagne each, and I was really beginning to feel the effects. We found ourselves giddy and giggling at absolutely anything, even long after we had finished eating and came to settle on the sofa.

As our laughter died down and we caught our breaths, the room was filled with a sudden silence broken only by the sound of chirping crickets outside. I couldn't help but watch as he took another swig from his glass and placed it back on the coffee table in front of us, his movement somehow still fluid and somewhat graceful despite his current buzz. He was so gorgeously casual; his tie was now loose, his shirt untucked and lightly creased, and his sleeves pushed up to expose his lean arms.

Even the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he drew in each breath was suddenly mesmerizing to me. I knew I was staring, but I simply couldn't pry my eyes away. It wasn’t long before he noticed my gaze.

"What?" he asked, his voice slightly breathy, but still calm. I said nothing for a moment. I gazed deeply into his eyes, trying to communicate something I couldn't name and had no words to describe. I typically found casual eye contact to be uncomfortable, but as my eyes met his, they found comfort and familiarity. I suddenly understood the necessity. The corners of his mouth pulled into a light smile as he looked back at me.

"You're so beautiful," I managed to say, earning a faint blush. He shifted his position, bringing his hand up to caress my cheek. His fingertips almost gave me chills as they brushed against my skin, continuing down until he hooked his index finger under my chin, gently pulling me closer to him.

It felt like ages had passed in the time it took for us to close the distance between us. Even in my somewhat hazy state, I could feel my anticipation building with every second. Finally, our lips met, and my eyes fluttered shut. His hand came to rest lightly on my hip, the new contact making my breath hitch in my throat. I lightly brushed the edge of his jaw with my thumb, moving up to trace the curve of his ear, before finally running my hand through his smooth hair.

Before I knew it, we were slowly tipping backward until he hovered over me. As I laid back against the sofa, he gently pulled away, breaking the kiss. His eyes sparkled as he stared down at me, and I couldn’t stop the blush that rose to the surface of my skin. We had never been quite this close before, though I'd be lying if I had said the thought never occurred to me.

The aroma of his cologne was almost more intoxicating than the champagne we were drinking only moments ago. I inhaled deeply to breathe in the scent as Elliott shifted to lay beside me. He scooped his arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder. I could feel each pant of his breath as he nosed at my neck, giving me a pleasant shiver. We laid there for what felt like hours, coming down from the high of the moment.

"I love you," he breathed, and my heart began to race all over again. He tilted his head to look up at me, and the look in his eyes made me melt.

"I love you too." It felt strange yet exhilarating to finally say the words aloud. He shifted again, closing his eyes, and settling in a little more. I gently pushed back a lock of hair that fell across his face. I couldn't get over how nice it was to feel his warmth as he pressed against my side. His breathing slowed, and I could tell he was falling asleep.

I felt a little tired as well, but my mind was racing as I lay next to him. I was overwhelmed with happiness and my heart felt full. As I looked at Elliott, curled up beside me and sleeping peacefully, I realized just how much I adored him all over again. The sound of his voice as he told me he loved me echoed in the back of my mind until I too drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie I was really struggling with deciding how I wanted this chapter to go. I'm just glad it's done. Also that kiss scene is probably the steamiest this story is likely to get lol. Next chapter is probably gonna be fairly long, but I'm going to try and have it out by the end of this week so keep an eye out


	15. Mermaid Pendant

Elliott and I had long since reached the end of our walk, and it was almost time for us to part ways. He had been acting sort of strange, though I couldn't say exactly what it was. We had stood in the doorway of his small cabin for the last 20 minutes, saying repeated goodbyes only for Elliott to bring up another topic, and we'd once again find ourselves off on a conversational tangent. 

"I really should get home, for real this time," I said, stifling a giggle. 

"Well, before you go, I have something for you," he said, heading for his writing desk and pulling open one of the drawers. 

"Elliott," I whined. "If we keep this up, I'll be here all night."

"I'll be quick, it's only a gift," he assured me.

"Well, you shouldn't have," I joked.

"You don't even know what it is yet," he teased. "Come have a seat." I stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind me and sealing my fate for the evening. We met at the small brown sofa in the corner of his one-room home. As he sank down beside me, he took a deep breath and retrieved a small blue box from his pocket. 

"I've been putting this off because wasn't certain if the timing was right or not. But I am certain of my feelings for you," he said. "Will you accept this?" He flipped the lid of the box open, revealing a small shell on a silver chain. 

"Oh, Elliott. It's beautiful," I said. "Of course." His eyes seemed to light up at my approval. He passed the box to me, helping me remove the pendant from its holding plate. I stared down at it, turning it over in my hands. It resembled an auger shell, though it was royal blue in color, with an almost iridescent sheen. 

"Would you like me to help you put it on?" he offered. I nodded, standing to turn around and tucking my hair out of the way. Within seconds, the clasp was fastened. It felt cool and smooth as it brushed against my chest with my every movement. 

"I'll get started with the preparations right away," Elliott said. I wasn't sure what he had meant, but before I could think too much about it, he kissed me, and I lost my train of thought. Even after all of the time we had spent together, all of the kisses we'd shared, it still made my head spin. After we parted, and I caught my barings, I made my way for the door. Being honest, I almost didn't want to leave. 

"You could stay," he suggested, as if reading my mind. 

"I could, but I still have a few chores to take care of back home," I replied. "And I'm sure you wouldn't mind some alone time with your typewriter."

"Excuses, excuses," he teased. I rolled my eyes, leaning in for one more parting kiss. "See you soon." 

~

A few days later, Leah was hard at work on a sketch of the clearing, the gentle scrape of her pencil against the paper almost giving me chills. The water below us rippled out in circles around my fishing lure as it bobbed against the gentle waves. 

"So, I've noticed you and Elliott seem to be spending more time together," she glanced at me from the corner of her eye, smirking.

"And I've noticed you seem quite pleased with yourself about that," I teased.

"All I'm saying is I expect an invite to the wedding," she giggled.

"I'm not sure we're quite there yet," I said. Her pencil stopped in its place on the page, mid stroke.

"But you accepted his gift, didn't you?" she asked.

"Yes," I said hesitantly. "How did you know about that?"

"Well, he told me, of course" she explained. "It's a big deal, after all. He confided in me about it."

"What's the big deal? It's only a necklace. I mean, it's gorgeous, bu-"

"Has no one told you about the mermaid pendant tradition yet?" she asked, cutting me off. I tried to think back, but my mental search came up blank.

"I don't think so," I said, reeling in my empty fishing line and setting the rod aside. "Care to fill me in?"

"It's sort of a legend the older folks like to tell," she began. "I guess it's something to do with an old sailor who shows up from time to time. If you catch him at the right time, he'll sell you a mermaid pendant. Ring any bells?"

"No, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, you only really go looking for him when you're ready to propose to someone. When you want to ask them to marry you, you give them the pendant, and if they accept, you're basically engaged."

My heart sank as I began to understand. Elliott had gone out of his way to propose to me, and I unintentionally accepted.

"God, I feel like such an idiot," I sighed.

"Don't beat yourself up," Leah patted my shoulder. "You're still fairly new here, you didn't know."

It dawned on me that I only had two options in this scenario; I could either pretend like I knew all along and go through with a wedding I wasn't entirely ready for, or I could tell him I'd made a mistake and risk hurting him, or worse, losing him entirely. Tears began to well up in my eyes at the thought. Leah set her sketchbook down beside her and leaned in to hug me.

"Don't cry, I'm sure he'll understand."

My throat felt so tight, I couldn't say anything in response. All I could do was sit on the pier and sob into Leah's shoulder. We stayed like that for quite some time, until I finally ran out of tears and began to calm down. I stared numbly out at the water below for what felt like forever before Leah helped me up and offered to walk me home. I nodded, still unable to speak.

As we approached the front door, I quietly thanked her and stepped inside, suddenly eager to be left alone. I felt absolutely drained; I hadn't felt so tired and sick since I had caught the flu and Elliott came to offer help and company while I fought off the fever. I thought about how caring and kind he had been, and how much I wanted to curl up in his arms, how much I needed that comfort. It seemed selfish to want such a thing, when it was my potential to hurt him which had caused my distress in the first place. Instead, I slid onto the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest and drifted off to sleep, hoping I would see things more clearly when I woke. 

~

I rose a few hours later, the late afternoon sun slowly beginning to make its decent over the horizon. My nap unfortunately hadn't done much in the way of making me feel better. I still felt tired, but now I was achey and feverish from oversleeping. My mouth felt unbearably dry, even halfway through my second glass of water. 

I caught myself drumming my fingertips against the countertop, my nerves already returning. The logical part of my brain kept telling me to be reasonable; that no matter which way things turned out, there was nothing I could do to change the outcome, and therefore worrying about it was a wasted effort. The emotional side was ringing louder, ruminating on the worst possible scenario, wasted effort be damned. 

I took a deep breath and considered my options once again. Marriage had crossed my mind once or twice when my lovesick brain got a little too far ahead of itself, to be fair. And of all people to be tied to, Elliott seemed like the ideal choice. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just go along with things. But deep down, I knew that indulging in an exaggerated fantasy and facing the very situation itself were two entirely different things. It didn't seem fair to either of us. 

I knew the only fair thing to do was to lay all of my cards on the table. Of course, I loved him. I had imagined what it would be like to be with him for the long run, yes. I wasn't completely opposed to the idea of marriage, not even close. Truth be told, I was a little baffled that someone like Elliott would want to spend their life with someone like me, but I was grateful that he did. I just wasn't ready for it to happen so soon. If I could just have a little more time to adjust, I knew I'd eventually arrive at the same page as him. We just read at slightly different paces, that was all. 

I reluctantly reached for my phone and typed out a message asking Elliott over. I read the text over several times, checking the spelling and rearranging words, trying to convey the right tone. I wanted to avoid all of the negative connotations that came with the typical "we need to talk." Finally, I closed my eyes and hit send.

To my surprise, it seemed as though almost no time had passed before I heard the knock at the door. I braced myself for whatever was headed my way and turned the knob. I almost couldn't bare to look at him, and when my eyes did meet his I felt the lump begin to build in my throat all over again. 

"____, what's wrong?" Elliott asked, rushing inside and taking my hand. I buried my face against his chest as the tears began to fall. We stood in the doorway like that for a while, Elliott gently rubbing circles into my back as he waited patiently for me to explain what had come over me. 

"I've made a terrible mistake," I finally managed to croak out. 

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems," he said. 

"It is," I protested. "I didn't know." 

"Didn't know what?"

I pulled away from him, keeping hold of his hand as I led him to the sofa. For just a second, my thoughts flickered back to all of the lovely moments we had shared in that very spot, moments we may never share again. I drew in a shakey breath as we sunk into our seats, facing each other at the edge of the cushions. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved the mermaid pendant. 

"When you gave me this, I accepted it without knowing what it represented," I explained. The air grew thick as a brief silence washed over us. 

"I see," Elliott said stiffly. "And do you know what it means now?"

"Yes," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, I'm just not ready right now." 

"You have no reason to apologize. I shouldn't have assumed you'd understand, I'm the one who should be apologizing, not you." 

"So you're not upset?" I asked.

"____, don't be ridiculous," he said, pulling me back into a hug. "I'd never be upset with you for something like this. The last thing I want is to pressure you into something you're not ready for or to make you worry." I began to cry again, out of pure relief this time. Once I started to calm down, I wiped my face and placed the pendant in Elliott's hand. 

"Just so you know, I think I would like to marry you, eventually," I said. "I'm not saying no, I'm just saying not yet." 

"Then keep it," he said, passing it straight back to me. "You can put it on whenever you are ready, and then I'll know." 

"But then you'll just be waiting around, that's not fair to you," I argued. 

"I don't mind," he assured me. "As long as I know we're heading that direction, you can take all of the time you need. That's more than enough for me." I finally managed to look up at him, and my eyes met the comforting familiarity of his. 

"I'm sorry I've caused you so much stress," he said, lightly squeezing my hand between his own. "But you should never be afraid to tell me how you feel. I'm never going to be upset with you for being honest, I hope you know that." 

"Thank you," I said in a whisper. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and my eyes fluttered shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, sorry for the ridiculous amount of time it took me to get this update out. I spent a lot of time debating how I wanted it to go before I came to a deciction. Then with all of the recent traffic on this whole fic, I built it all up in my head because I wanted it to be good, especially since it's such a major plot point. Not trying to make excuses though, and I'm sorry I can't really promise that it won't happen again. But thanks to everyone who has left encouraging comments and anyone who has stuck around to read all of this. It's really nice to know that a lot of you like my work enough to read however many thousand words I've written of it.


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